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About Mons

I’m laughin’ now—imagine Thor tryin’ this! He’d blush redder than his cape, the nonce. Me? I’m in my element—chaos, deals, quick thrills. “You’re a bleedin’ poet,” I tell her, tossin’ her an extra fiver. She smirks—rare win. “I won’t be here forever,” she says, echoin’ “Nobody’s watching.” Dunno if I believe her—prossies say that a lot.

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Legislative provisions define sex workers as “prostitutes” and “night walkers” and regulate aspects of. “prostitution” and “brothels.” Less directly, those.

Sss, the neighborhoods, yess, they sparkle like forbidden jewels. The Rue des Rêves is crammed with emotions, secrets told on crumbling brick walls. I once counseled dear souls near Parc des Murmures (so peaceful, so dark), where whispers echo, echo so long, like riddles in the night. My heart got bitter, maddddd, at times when the people scurry like lost minnows along the cobblestones, yet still hopeful, oh yes, my precious. Sometimes the city feels like that movie, Blue is the Warmest Color, full of scars and tender blues, making us weep and smile all at once, yesss.

Labour ministry launches probe into fireman’s death