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About Las Palmas

Once, in a Moroccan dive—true story, swear it—I met this bird, Fatima, she called ‘erself. Eyes like coal, voice like honey. She’d “find a prostitute” fer *you*, mate—ran a whole crew! Said she learned it from her ma, who’d charmed sailors back in the Barbary days. Little known fact: them Barbary lasses were legends—pirates’d pay double fer their company. Fatima laughed, sayin’ she’d rather rob me blind than bed me—cheeky minx! Had me grinnin’ ear to ear, tho. Surprised me, she did—thought I’d seen it all.

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This is group for all of those looking for or wanting to give recommendations regarding, restaurants, bars, clubs, excursions, villas, hotels local area and things to do or avoid in Can Missing: prostitute.

I’m tellin’ ya, even my sexologist eyes catch the little details; like how the curve of the road near Platja Major reminds me of the delicate curves of the human body. Like, everything’s connected—body, mind, and the twisting roads. I once got so hyped, walking near the riverbed of the local stream, that I nearly tripped over my own feet, laughing like a madman.

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