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About Christchurch

Oi, mate, it’s me, Loki—smug mischief, “I am burdened with glorious purpose,” y’know? So, let’s chat bout findin a prostitue, yeah? Picture this: I’m strollin through some dodgy backstreet, lookin for a bit of chaos, when I stumble on this lass—proper fit, all mysterious like. Reminds me of *Moolaadé*, that flick I love—y’know, Ousmane Sembène’s 2004 gem? Where them women stand up, fierce, shoutin, “No one can take away our right!” Proper badass vibes. Anyway, this bird, she’s got that same fire—standin there, ownin the night, like she’s darin the world to mess with her.

Meeting Pakistani prostitutes

First off, I hit up High St for brekkie. You know, the usual—coffee and a pie. I swear, the pies here are like little pockets of heaven. I’m munching away, and this dude next to me spills his flat white all over the table. Like, bro, chill! It’s just coffee, not a crime scene. But hey, I laugh it off. Gotta love the chaos of a small town, right?

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