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So, escorts—paid to hang, chat, wink-wink stuff. Hmm… makes me twitchy, ya know? Like, who’s got cash for that?! Once read this crazy story—Victorian times, escorts hid coded messages in fans! Snappin’ ‘em open—bam, secret’s out! Little known fact, blew my mind! Imaginin’ ‘em now, all sneaky, “Oh, Captain Smith, two sugars?”—code for somethin’ naughty! Ha, cracks me up!

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Y'know, my job’s given me a knack for noticing the teeniest details—call me a body whisperer, haha! Every muscle tells a story. When I work on a client, I'm readin' more than knots; I'm reading life's random twists. "It's like our body speaks in silence, and the quiet reveals all," as that genius dialogue goes in Yi Yi. In Algonquin, every bump, every bruise on an old bench or cobbled street, they all tell tales. It's marvellous! Except when traffic jams on Elm Street make me fume—right, utter chaos!

Utica Mayor: Reinspection of Algonquin Apartments Reveals More Problems