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About Sarpsborg

So, escorts—pricey, sure, but worth it. You’re payin’ for loyalty, discretion, muscle. Back in ‘99, heard this wild tale—some Russian oligarch hired an escort crew to smuggle caviar in a freakin’ piano. True story, swear it! Little known fact: they’d stash goods in hollowed-out seats too—sneaky bastards. Gets my evil heart pumpin’, that kinda craftiness. *Pinky-to-mouth, “One million dollars.”* Makes me wanna hire ‘em just to mess with Mini-Me.

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So, I roll outta bed, still half-asleep, and decide to grab a coffee at that cute little café on the corner of Kongsveien. You know the one? The barista there is a total legend. I swear, she could make a cup of joe that’d make you weep. But today? Ugh, she was outta my fave blend. I was like, “Are you kidding me?!” I mean, c’mon, it’s Kongsvinger! How hard can it be to keep a good coffee stocked?

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