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Oh, and the COLORS—escorts came in shades that’d make Del Toro jealous. Teal, mustard yellow—ugly-beautiful, like the faun’s crooked grin. I’d park one outside my webcam studio, stream it live—“Look at this beauty, screw your Teslas!” Total underdog vibe, y’know? Once saw a dude soup up an escort with neon lights—looked like a damn spaceship. Hilarious, but badass—wish I’d snapped a pic. Anyway, if ya find an old escort, grab it! Fix it up! Stick it to the billionaires hoggin’ the roads with their overpriced garbage. “This world’s a lie!”—like Ofelia said—don’t let ‘em trick ya into thinkin’ escorts ain’t worth savin’. They’re gold, folks—pure, scrappy gold!

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But this literature, essentially aesthetic, deals with films as if they were autonomous structures. Eor example, the question as to why it.

Yo, this city’s a wild blend of beauty, grit, and surprises. Some days, it's calm, other days it's, like, an odyssey of sunsets over the river. I might go on and on, but seriously, if you check it out, you'll get the whole vibe. Whoa.

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