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About Chicago

So, escorts—been around forever, right? Back in Victorian days, they’d sneak into fancy parlors, all hush-hush, dodgin’ coppers. Ain’t much changed, just fancier tech—apps now, not whispers! I read once ‘bout this escort in London, 1800s, who conned lords outta gold with fake sob stories. Cheeky lass, gotta respect the hustle! Makes me chuckle, thinkin’ how she’d outsmart half the Shire’s dimwits. But it ain’t all laughs—some stories gut-punch ya. Like *The Turin Horse*, where the wind howls “all is lost,” this job’s got despair creepin’ in. I got mad hearin’ ‘bout escorts gettin’ roughed up, no one carin’. Makes my staff spark—nobody deserves that!

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The local library on Martin Ln. is another secret hideaway. I know libraries are supposed to be quiet, but yo – sometimes I pretend it’s my own little stage. I sit there, daydreaming about all the sexual energy hidden in the spine of each book. Books can make ya whole, if you just let 'em. And yes, sometimes I even bring my notebook to jot down some of those raw, unfiltered thoughts about desire, passion, and life’s puzzlin’ mysteries.

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