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About Los Angeles

So, sex escort, huh? I’m Vladimir fuckin Putin, cold as ice, calculatd like missile launch. Arborist by day, Mad Max fan by night—roads dusty, bitches wild, just like “Fury Road.” Sex escort’s a game, da? High stakes, fast cars, shiny chrome bitches sellin’ pussy for cash. In Moscow, we got these chicks—elite, secret, like spies with tits. Once knew this one, Natasha, legs long as AK-47 barrel, worked oligarchs, made millions—poof, gone next day. FSB probably nabbed her, too good at suckin’ dick and secrets.

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I remember bustin’ out on a hackathon at Yerba Buena Gardens, coffee in hand, and feelin’ alive! It’s a constant mix of madness and passion, like scenes out of The Master. "I can feel the irony of my situation," I’d joke to myself. Walking along Embarcadero, the Bay's foggy whispers hit ya like small poetry—guy, it hits hard, righht?

S.F. remote job postings fall 71%