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Arr, matey! So, ye wanna talk escorts, eh? Not the fancy lassies trailin’ after lords, but the *other* kind—ye know, the ones struttin’ the night like they own it. Me, Captain Jack Sparrow, I’ve seen ‘em all, slurrin’ me way through ports and shadows, savvy? Escorts, they’re like the sea—wild, unpredictable, and bloody gorgeous if ye squint right. Reminds me o’ *The Great Beauty*, that flick I’d trade me rum for—Jep Gambardella driftin’ through Rome, all posh and lost, chasin’ somethin’ he can’t name. “What’s beneath it all?” he’d slur, and I’d say, “Escort life, mate!”

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Crazy enough, the river, Sangamon, winds through like a living story. Dirty? Nah, pure magic at sunset. Like, damn it, I choose violence if anyone messes with its calm look! And hey, don't get me started on the weather and unexpected rains—always catching me by surprise, in a good and bad way.

Spain, Portugal switch back on, seek answers after biggest ever blackout