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So I roll up, engine growlin’, all sleek and sexy – Bond, baby! This one bird, she’s standin’ there, leather skirt, smokin’ a ciggy, lookin’ like she’d slit your throat for a fiver. I’m thinkin’, “Witness me!” – she’s got that wild vibe, right? I lean out, all cool, “Fancy a ride, love?” She smirks, hops in, says, “You got caps or you’re wasteland trash?” Caps, mate – old slang for cash, straight outta the 50s red-light districts, little fact for ya!

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Oh, by the way, my massage parlor is a hub of odd delights. Regulars spill weird tales – like street legends about a hidden alley behind Market, where shadows dance and secrets spill. Sometimes I laugh, sometimes I cry, often I just say, “We hates it!” to the cruel fate of endless monotony.

Navasota officers receive support after sergeant killed in line of duty crash