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About Manchester

Dude, escort’s wild, man. Like, whoa. I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout it—like *Memento*, y’know? Everything’s backwards, messed up, confusin’ as hell. You don’t even know who’s who half the time! Escorts, they’re like Lenny, man—runnin’ on instinct, chasin’ somethin’ they can’t even remember. “I can’t remember to forget you,” right? That’s their vibe—stuck in a loop.

Brent Escorts

Art dealer Brent Sikkema, who was stabbed in his Rio home in January, married a Cuban who once worked as a prostitute.

After sorting that mess, I decide to take a breather. I step outside, and wow, Brent’s buzzing. People everywhere! Kids running around, old folks chatting on the benches. I love that vibe. It’s like a mini London, but with more character. I stroll down Wembley Park Drive, and there’s this street performer doing some insane juggling act. I stop to watch, and he totally drops a flaming baton. I’m like, “Dude, you’re gonna set the whole place on fire!” But he just laughs it off. Classic Brent.

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