Anastasia Larisa Brothel ❤️❤️

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Picture this: dim lights, smoky air, girls in skimpy gear—proper cheeky setup. I’ve seen some wild ones, yeah? Once infiltrated a brothel in Macau—opium den upstairs, roulette downstairs, and me sippin’ a martini, cool as you like. “Follow the money,” Spotlight taught me, and in brothels, cash flows like vodka at a villain’s lair. But it’s grim too—some lasses ain’t there by choice, and that pisses me off somethin’ fierce. Makes me wanna punch a wall, or a pimp.

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Next thing, I spill my coffee all over my desk. Ugh! It’s like the universe is against me today. I’m trying to clean it up while answering calls. Multitasking like a boss, right? But then, I get a call from a guy on Kallidopoulou Street. He’s lost his wallet. I’m like, “Dude, retrace your steps!” But he’s all, “I was at the Kourouta café!” I’m thinking, “Great, now I gotta deal with a wallet hunt.”

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