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So, escort—where do I start? Back in the day, like Victorian times, escorts weren’t just arm candy, nah, they were legit spies sometimes! Dudes paid ‘em to snoop on rivals—crazy, right? Blows my mind! Makes me happy thinkin’ how badass they were, slippin’ through shadows. But then, ugh, the stigma pisses me off—people judgin’ like they’re saints. Gimme a break! Escorts are hustlers, workin’ the game, and I respect that grind.

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Then there’s the secret park, Culver City Park. It’s tucked near Ballona Creek. Y’know, the creek? It flows gently—calming the soul. I often sit there, thinkin’ “what a perfect day!” while I watch the ducks paddlin’, and my thoughts go “Boo-ya, just let it all go!” I sometimes even daydream about those happier emotions from the movie, like Joy tickling my senses.

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