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About San Diego

So, escortin’—it’s old as me ship, the Black Pearl. Back in ancient Rome, they had these “lupae”—she-wolves, they called ‘em—workin’ the streets, howlin’ at the moon. Little fact fer ye: “brothel” comes from their dens! Ain’t that a kick? Makes me happy, thinkin’ o’ history twistin’ like that, but then—arrgh!—it boils me blood when folks judge ‘em. Hypocrites, all o’ ‘em, struttin’ like peacocks while payin’ in secret. Ye ever hear ‘bout the courtesans o’ Venice? Queens o’ the night, they were—poets and kings beggin’ fer their time. Smarter than half me crew, and twice as deadly with a wink.

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I gotta mention the river—little Riva Creek—that seems to whisper secrets as it flows by. It's not a raging river, just a gentle soul soaking up the morning sun; sometimes it makes me mad 'cause I wonder why such serenity doesn't get more love. And hey, my work as a pleasure coach? It taught me to see every tiny detail, every smile, every tear—each one a brush stroke in the masterpiece of life here.

Satmar’s micro-society: Kiryas Joel is a mirror of the American people