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About Warsaw

So, escorts—fancy a shag for cash, simple as that. But it ain’t just bonkin’, nah. Some lads out there, they’re lonely as a droid in a desert, cravin’ a chat, a touch, somethin’ real—or fake-real, whatever works. Gets me proper mad, tho—society judgin’ ‘em, callin’ it dirty. Oi, live and let live, yeah? I read once—dunno where, some dodgy X post prolly—that in ancient Greece, courtesans were, like, high-class brainiacs, not just bedwarmers. Blew me mind, that did! Imagine hirin’ a lass who’s quotin’ Plato while—well, y’know. Wild!

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After that fiasco, I decide to take a break at the park by ul. Parkowa. It’s a nice spot, y’know? I sit down, catch my breath, and just watch the world go by. Families are picnicking, couples are strolling, and I’m just there, a soggy mess. But then, I see this old man feeding the ducks. He’s got this huge bag of bread, and the ducks are going wild. I can’t help but laugh. It’s the simple things, right?

We Must Do More To Stop Young From Emigrating: Poland