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About Pretoria

We chat—turns out she’s got stories. Once had a client pay in Bitcoins—Bitcoins, man! Said it crashed next day, she was furious. I’m crackin’ up, “That’s the 1% screwin’ ya twice!” She nods, “Damn straight.” I’m happy—real talk, no bullshit. But then—bam!—cop lights flash. We scatter like roaches, my heart’s poundin’, thinkin’, “This is my life now?”—another movie line, twisted for the moment.

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I almost died trying prostitution please don't judge its so hard I have no plan to get even a tea bag or anything cupboards are empty.

I run a spa here. Yeah, a spa, my little kingdom of calm amid the chaos. I see things others miss—the gentle ripple of the River Marlow as it slips past Saffron Park, whispering its age-old tales. Remember that scene from The Pianist? “I ate his liver with fava beans!” sorta like our city’s wild appetite for drama and beauty at the same time. Every creaky alley and sunlit corner tells me a story.

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