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About Los Angeles

Now, imagine—this chick quotin lines, “In the name of the concierge!”—straight outta Grand Budapest, mixin biz with flair. Cracked me up, it did—humor in the hustle! Tho, gotta say, dodgy streets ain’t my jam—rather sip tea at the hotel, ya feel? Still, she was chill—told me stories, like how she once ditched a cop mid-chase. “Feet, my power is,” i joked, wavin my stubby legs.

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Customer relations personnel in a massage parlor and a brothel can refer clients to distinct escorts. Most of the time, the calls come from local Slut Tonight.

There's a park—Oaktree Gardens—where I used to meet clients (shh, don't tell) for caffeine and brutal honesty sessions. It's no manicured Eden; trees are crooked, paths are rough, kinda like my patients' love lives. I've seen more flirtation under those branches than in any high-rise strip club. Crazy, huh? And trust me: I get how sex and love are messy, unpredictable—just like those twisted vines.

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