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About Toulouse

So, this one time, right, heard a story—some hooker in Vegas, mid-1800s, gold rush days. She’s workin’ the saloons, got syphilis scars, still rakin’ in cash. Little known fact: them girls back then? Some ran the show, owned land, flipped the script on pimps. Badass, right? Makes me grin, thinkin’ bout it—beats clinic duty any day. But then you got the sob stories—girls trafficked, beaten, strung out. Pisses me off, the world’s a cesspool sometimes. “I’ve abandoned my child!”—that’s what Plainview screamed, and these creeps abandon decency daily.

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In Bulgaria, prostitution, like corruption, is much more open. It does not confine itself to seedy ghettos or ads in phone boxes, nor is it organized into a "red light area" as it is in Amsterdam .

I’m blabbering now, but here’s more: the streets can be unpredictable – sometimes slick, sometimes miserable, always authentic. Look, I’m no poet, I’m blunt. If you come, just experience. Chill out, talk to the locals; they got their own slang – raw and uncut.

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