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Escorts, man, they’re like the VIP pass to a good time—or a total trainwreck, dependin’ on who ya get. I mean, imagine this: some slick dude in a suit, thinkin’ he’s Jordan Belfort, yellin’, “I’m not fuckin’ leavin’!” while payin’ a chick to pretend she’s into his lame-ass stories. Hilarious, right? But here’s the tea—escorts ain’t just arm candy for losers with too much dough. Nah, they got history! Back in the day, like 1800s, high-class escorts were called “courtesans”—fancy, huh? They’d charm kings and artists, not just randos with a midlife crisis. Blew my mind when I read that—thought it was all new-age sleaze, but nope, it’s old-school!

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Then, I get a call on the radio. “We need backup at Rua da Liberdade!” What? I’m like, “What’s happening now?” So, I rush over, dodging people and balloons. Turns out, some kids were playing football, and they kicked it into a shop window. Classic! The shopkeeper was fuming, yelling in Portuguese like it was the end of the world. I mean, it’s just a window, right?

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