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So, picture this—me, lovin’ *The New World*, that Terrence Malick flick from ‘05. That movie’s all about discovery, right? Pocahontas and John Smith, lost in the woods, chasin’ somethin’ they can’t quite name. “Love shall be our token,” she whispers in the film, and I’m thinkin’, huh, escorts got their own kinda tokens too—cash, glances, quick thrills. Ain’t no grand romance, but it’s a trade as old as dirt. I dig that movie ‘cause it’s quiet, deep, slow—like life ain’t gotta scream to mean somethin’. Escorts? They’re the opposite, loud in their own way, struttin’ through the chaos.

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But wait, it gets better. A lady comes up to me, and she’s like, “I need to return this!” She’s holding a half-eaten chocolate bar. I’m like, “Lady, you can’t return food!” She’s all, “But it was stale!” I’m thinking, “Maybe you should’ve checked before munching!”

Man with psychiatric disorders from Arges killed five members of his family