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Alright, listen up, fam—imagine me, Morgan Freeman, deep voice rollin’ thru your skull, talkin’ ‘bout escorts, yeah, *that* kinda escort. Picture this: neon lights flicker, city hums low, and there’s this chick—or dude, no judgment—standin’ on the corner, lookin’ like they walked outta some gritty dream. I’m an operator, see, wired into systems, connectin’ dots, and escorts? Man, they’re like the ghosts in the machine, slippin’ thru cracks nobody else sees. “Requiem for a Dream” vibes hit hard here—*“It’s not the drugs, it’s the life,”* like Harry’d say, all desperate and raw. That’s escortin’—not just sex, nah, it’s the hustle, the survival, the chase for somethin’ better that never comes.

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Finally, it roars to life, and I’m feelin’ like a champ. I start choppin’ away, and it’s like therapy. The sound of the saw, the smell of fresh-cut wood—it’s bliss. But then, I hear this weird noise. I look up, and there’s a bear! A freakin’ bear! Just chillin’ like it owns the place. I’m like, “Dude, this is my turf!”

Western Romania city marks 30 years since the 1989 Revolution