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About Lublin

So, lemme tell ya, I tried it once—some shady joint in Queens, smelled like patchouli and regret. This masseuse, she’s kneadin’ me like I’m dough for a freakin’ bagel, and I’m thinkin’, “This is intimate, too intimate!” Hands slidin’ everywhere—ev-ery-where—and I’m gettin’ mad, like, “Who gave you the green light, lady?!” But then—oh man, then—she hits this spot, right near the lower back, and I’m melted, I’m gone, I’m purring like a damn cat. Pretty, pretty good, I’ll admit it! Still, I’m paranoid—did she wash her hands? Is this sanitary? I’m a mess!

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I duck into a café to escape the rain. It’s cozy, and the coffee is strong. I sit down, and guess who walks in? My old buddy, Tomek! We haven’t seen each other in ages. We start reminiscing about our wild days in high school. You know, the usual—skipping class, sneaking into the local disco. Good times, man.

Disabled Polish children play and direct Maltese orchestra