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About Hamilton

Here I am, mates, David Attenborough style, narrating the wild world of escorts—calm, rhythmic, like I’m whisperin’ about lions on the savanna. Escorts, yeah, they’re a curious species, ain’t they? Not just the glitz and glam you see in movies, nah, it’s deeper, murkier—like that scene in *A History of Violence* where Tom Stall says, “In this family, we don’t hide who we are.” Escorts don’t either, not really. They’re out there, bold as brass, livin’ a life most only whisper about.

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Finally, I get my coffee, and I’m feeling good. I stroll down towards the Frankton Junction train station. The vibe is buzzing, people rushing everywhere. I love it! But then, outta nowhere, I see this massive traffic jam on the corner of Killarney and Commerce. Like, what’s new, right? But this time, it’s worse. Cars honking, people yelling. I swear, I thought I was in a bad action movie.

Frankton is the Cinderella of Hamilton