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About Buea

Anyways, I’m saunterin’ down this alley—smells like piss and regret—and there’s this bird, all dolled up, leanin’ on a wall. I’m thinkin’, “Is she the one?” Kinda like Irene in the movie, y’know, “How do you live a life full of nothing?”—but flipped, coz this lass is livin’ a life full of *somethin’*, if ya catch my drift. I swagger over, all smug, “Greetings, mortal, fancy a trickster’s company?” She laughs—bloody laughs!—and I’m like, “Oi, I’m a god, show some respect!” But nah, she’s chill, says, “50 quid, love, no funny business.” Fair enough, I respect a straight shooter.

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I been here long, and my massage gig taught me so much. Folks come in stressed, and I lay it down soft like soul therapy. My space, with funky yellow walls and mismatched chairs, is a sanctuary. Clients always say, “Girl, you got magic hands—like movie magic, ya know?” I laugh, reminiscin’ on mad nights when every heartbeat of Tombel pulsed a little extra funk.

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