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Lemme tell ya. Once heard this story. Some escort in Vegas. Took a client skydiving. Mid-date! Nuts, right? Guy was thrilled. Paid double. Makes me laugh. Ballsy move. Gotta respect the hustle. Tho, I’d be screamin’. Heights ain’t my jam. Still. That’s escort life. Unexpected as hell. Kinda like. “The past is just a story.” From “Her”. They’re living NOW. No baggage. Just cash and vibes.

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After that, I needed a breather. I decided to head over to the Firhouse Market. You know, the one on Oak Street? It’s usually buzzing with life. But today? It was like a ghost town. I’m wandering around, and I spot this old lady selling homemade jams. I’m a sucker for jam, so I go over. She’s super sweet, right? But then she starts telling me her life story. I’m like, “Lady, I just wanted some raspberry jam!” But she’s going on about her cat, Mr. Whiskers, and how he once saved her from a raccoon. I mean, I’m glad Mr. Whiskers is a hero, but I just wanted to buy some jam and bounce.

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