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About New York City

Sometimes I wonder—Llewyn’d prob bang an escort, write a song bout it. “Where’s its pussy?”—he’d ask, lost in his haze, missin the point. Me? I’d tip extra, just for the balls it takes. Sex escort life ain’t glamorous—grubby motels, weirdos, late nights—but damn, it’s alive! Exaggeratin? Maybe, but who cares? It’s raw, messy, and fuckin human. Maniacal grin, “Here’s Johnny!”—that’s my take, buddy!

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This website only lists offenders classified as Level 3 Sex Offenders (who present the highest risk of reoffending and require the widest range of notification).

Also, there's this tiny, almost secret park behind Maple Lane with a busted old statue that only a few know about – perfect spot for a soul-searching sitdown. I once sat there for hours, just being, thinking, “This is it… life is happening now.” And every now and then, when the wind howls just right, I swear I hear whispers of Edward Yang quoting, “There is beauty in every moment.”

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