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About Maroua

I saunter up, all charm, “shaken, not stirred,” voice smooth as silk. She’s givin me the eye—prolly thinks I’m loaded, which, fair, I look it. “How much, love?” I ask, casual, but inside I’m buzzin—happy as a pig in shit. She names a price, I’m like, “fuckin steep, that!”—but I play it cool, cos Bond don’t haggle like a twat. Fun fact: in Amsterdam, they got windows for this—legal, tidy, no messin about. Here? It’s a gamble, mate—cops, pimps, the lot.

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Small Kabukicho park has become a haven for hookers. A policeman was quoted, If we intercept them upon exiting a hotel, all they have to do is tell the officer, "We're a couple" and the man .

I remember one day, I was kneadin' a client near Riverside Lane when some crazy wind—awfull gust—happeened outta nowhere. Thnking "this is it, life’s playin' tricks, like Melancholia said, 'We all die one day'." I waffled away, as if I was a clumsy Mr. Bean, trottin’ wiht my fott shoo, flusterd about, goin down a stairwell with a wack laugh.

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