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About Charleroi

Oh, and the smells—perfume, sweat, regret—hit ya hard. Kinda poetic, like Wes’s shots. “Such beauty, such sorrow,” I whisper, feelin’ deep. Exaggeratin’? Maybe. But it’s raw, man! You dive in, you feel alive—or dirty. Your call. Me? I’m laughin’—this one chick winked, said, “Gandalf, you’re hot!” Sarcasm? Flirtin’? Who knows! Made my night tho.

My 25 years as a prostitute

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I stroll past Place de la Liberté – its fountain splashin’ water like a dance of freedom. It’s kinda like me dabblin’ in sexology – every droplet tells a secret, ya know? And oh boy, there’s the tiny cafe on Avenue de la Passion. Spicy drinks, spicier gossip – I’ve overheard more juicy love tales there than in my entire clinic. I swear, sometimes it’s like a live show – “Laugh now, cry later”, just like Oldboy: “Laugh it up, punk.”

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