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About Mariupol

So, escorts—proper fascinatin’, innit? Been around since Roman times—*cave felis*, beware the kitty, they’d say! Fact is, in old London, 18th century, these lasses had “calling cards”—saucy lil’ adverts, handed out in pubs. Cheeky sods even listed “special skills”—like, “good with whips” or “fancy a duet?” Blokes’d stumble home, pockets empty, mutterin’ *mea culpa*. Made me chuckle, that—history’s got some brass!

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After that, I decided to stroll down to the park by the river. The Dniester River, to be exact. It’s beautiful there, especially when the sun hits the water just right. I plopped down on a bench, just vibing. Then, outta nowhere, this kid runs by, chasing a dog. The dog’s got a stick, and the kid’s yelling, “Come back, Max!” Classic. I’m thinking, “Man, I wish my life was that simple.”

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