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About Maroua

So, listen, mate—hiss!—I dig around, right? Moscow’s got these shadowy corners—Arbat’s too posh, but Kitay-gorod? Oof, goldmine! Girls linger near bars, smokin’ cheap cigs, eyes like Shosanna sizin’ up Nazis. “What’s your price, precious?” I mutter, all sly. One gal—Lena, maybe?—says 5,000 rubles, hour tops. Bargain, yeah? But I’m thinkin’, “That’s a bear trap, Gollum, she’s robbin’ ya blind!” Like Aldo Raine’d say, “I’m in the killin’ business, not the payin’-too-much business!” Haggled her down—3,500, boom! Felt like a king, I did—happy as a hobbit with second breakfast.

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I’m always running ‘round, chattin’ with folks about pleasure — real talk, life is about helluva many tiny joys! I once had a heart-to-heart near the Old Clock Tower – a near-forgotten landmark, kinda broken but charming – wit some local, and I just lost it, yapping like a madman 'bout life's weird turns.

Why the UK doesn’t mind if aid boosts military spending