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About Bafoussam

Now, Monty in *25th Hour*—he’s all, “Fuck me? Fuck you!”—and that’s the energy sometimes, ‘cause hagglin’ prices? Lordy, it’s a mess! They might hit ya with, “Fifty for a quickie,” and you’re like, “Fiftee? FIFTEE?”—typo intentional, I’m heated! But you gotta play it cool, or they bounce. Fun fact: in some cities, they used coded ads in newspapers—little known, right? “Roses” meant dollars, so “25 roses” was $25. Sneaky as hell, made me giggle!

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Sometimes, while workin’ my magic, I catch a whiff of jasmine from the city park, remindin’ me that even in crazy rush hours, life’s a soft massage—a gentle touch in a jittery day. Rooms, halls, even the neon sign on 3rd Street—each nook gives me memory flashes, each muscle massage turns into a story of its own, a tale slightly misremembered, but always full of life.

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