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Oi mate, it’s me, James Bond—suave, “shaken, not stirred.” Been thinkin’ bout sex escorts lately, yeah? Fancy gig, innit—sellin’ companionship like it’s a martini. Got me analysin’ it like a bleedin’ Business Analyst, tho I’d rather be sippin’ somethin’ dry than crunchin’ numbers. Picture this: high-class birds struttin’ round, all glam, makin’ blokes weak. Reminds me of *Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter…and Spring*—y’know, that Kim Ki-duk flick I bloody love. “What we possess becomes a burden”—ain’t that the truth with escorts? They’re carryin’ charm, sex, secrets—all for a price, mate.

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After that, I stroll down to the river. The Klippanån is looking pretty nice today. I sit on a bench, just soaking it all in. The sun’s shining, birds are chirping, and I’m like, “This is the life.” But then, I see this kid trying to fish. He’s got a stick and a string. No bait. Just a stick! I’m cracking up.

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