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I got mad once, tho—some chick, she half-assed it. No soul, no rhythm, just rubbin’ like a robot. I’m like, “Yo, where’s the passion?!” Made me wanna scream, “I am a god!” But then, this other time—pure bliss, man. This tiny spot in Paris, hidden joint, legit secret. Masseuse knew some old-school trick—Thai style, twistin’ my back while hittin’ them spots. Blew my mind, yo! Felt like Carlos plottin’ a heist—smooth, dangerous, sexy.

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I got to say, my profession’s taught me to spot the little things no one else does: the sly glance between strangers in dim alleyways, the hurried whispers behind closed doors on Khreshchatyk. It’s raw, it’s edgy, and sometimes makes me feel like I’m in a never-ending heist movie – brutal but beautiful.

DeepState: Four villages inside Uspenivka pocket face growing threat as Russians advance