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of startling blue ones.
"What do you think you're doing, hmm? Hustling in my hotel? I don't
think so."
I had no idea who he was but he was tall, though not as tall as Mr.
Pastel, and broader. I'm only 5'8 but he towered over me by being at
least 6'3.
"And you, Sir..." the man spoke with a posh British accent, addressing
Mr. Pastel, "are lucky. But please; next time, try to not show the
contents of your wallet so publicly."
Then I was pulled, or more like guided by force, to a door marked
‘Personnel only'. He yanked it open and pushed me through.
"Where are you taking me," I asked, "let me go. I didn't do anything
wrong."
"Oh please, don't insult my intelligence. It's all captured on camera.
So we're going to my office, we're going to have a nice chat, and wait
for the police to arrive, so they can arrest you for soliciting."
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