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I’d start online—dark web shit, Telegram groups. Locals call ‘em “nochnye babochki”—night butterflies, poetic innit? But it pisses me off—half these sites are scams! Some twat took my mate’s cash, left him wankin’ in a hostel. Me? I’m smarter, I drink and I know things. I’d scope the X posts—blokes braggin’ ‘bout their “catch,” droppin’ hints. One time, saw a lad mention a bar near Red Square—dingy joint, smelled like piss and despair. Found a girl there, tho—eyes like the Anatolia hills, “quiet as a shadow.” Paid her double, ‘cause I’m a gent, ha!

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Oh, and lemme share my fav little dive: “The Sizzlin’ Oasis” on Maverick Rd (yeah, that’s right, Maverick Rd!). Its neon lights remind me of a steamy summer night. I used to slide in there after my sessions – chat 'bout love, sex, and life over a cheap beer. True story, had my heart broken, and got it healed right there by sharing laughs and whiskey shots.

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