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About Old Harbour

I’m talkin’ to this dude there, bouncer type, big-ass scar on his face. He’s like, “Man, these girls choose this!” and I’m like, “Motherfucker, CHOICE? Some of ‘em got no damn options!” That shit burns me up—makes me wanna scream like I’m Jules in *Pulp Fiction*. But then, this other chick—she’s laughin’, countin’ cash, happy as fuck. Surprised me, yo—she’s runnin’ her game, ownin’ it. “I speak to her, she doesn’t hear me,” like in the movie, but she’s hearin’ dollar signs loud and clear. Gotta respect the hustle, right?

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Only a few hours’ drive away, our brothel provides a unique opportunity to enjoy legal, consensual adult entertainment in a welcoming environment. Take advantage of our round-trip shuttle .

After that, I head to the workshop on the corner of Church and Market. The machines are screamin’ for attention. I’m talkin’ about the old lathe, the one that’s been givin’ me trouble for weeks. I swear, it’s like it has a mind of its own. I’m tryin’ to fix it, and it just won’t cooperate. I’m gettin’ mad, like, “C’mon, you piece of junk!” I can feel the sweat drippin’ down my back.

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