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As we sailed in Marlins Mens Club, Ramon informed me vivaciously, “Hey bitch, look at that cunt over there who is standing at the corner with a glass. She is Yugoslavian. Oh, man, she is my fucking type. She has a long black hair as smooth as silk, green emerald eyes, perfect teats and lascivious ass. You can’t help admiring her unearthly beauty, bitch, and don’t worry I’ll introduce her to you later, ha-ha-ha….”

It seemed to me that as soon as Ramon flew down the threshold with his fully spreading wings, the place was somehow brighten up, and every single whores became animated instantly and started shaking their ass more energetically, as if his wings brought cheerfulness to the place. Even a whore, who was comfortably dozing on a sofa, suddenly jumped up and started dancing frantically on the sofa, as if she saw Hitler marching in. It was simply a phenomenon to watch the sudden change and artlessly unexplainable by modern science.

We allocated our position right beside the main dancing stage and ordered drinks. Ramon meticulously reconnoitered the place with his professional eyes for good thirty-five seconds, then analyzed like a general on a battlefield, “Bitch, I think they have few whores today due to it being Wednesday night. But don’t worry, I asked a waiter, and he told me that more whores will join the force shortly.”

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