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About Galati

Alright, pal, lemme break it down—sex escorts, man, it’s a wild gig! I’m Gordon Gekko, “Greed is good,” and hell yeah, I see the cash flowin’ here. This ain’t just some shady backroom deal—it’s a freakin’ industry, legit in spots like Nevada, where brothels rake in millions. Millions! You got yer high-end escorts, pullin’ $10k a night—crazy, right? I’m talkin’ penthouses, champagne, the works. Reminds me of *Lost in Translation*, that scene where Bill Murray’s just floatin’ through Tokyo, lost but kinda lovin’ it—“What kind of restaurant makes you cook your own food?”—same vibe, payin’ for somethin’ you could chase yourself, but fancier.

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Suddenly, it started to rain. Outta nowhere! I’m like, “Seriously?!” I sprinted to the nearest café on Strada Tazlau. I ducked inside, soaked but laughing. Ordered a coffee, and the barista was super chill. We started chatting about the weather, and I’m like, “Yeah, it’s just like my love life—totally unpredictable!”