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You enter a little alleyway smelling of motor oil and cinnamon. Each stride onward gains the perception of habitancy. Your bowels begin to raucous and tumult; and you haunch low while staggering ahead. There must be RELIEF!
Luckily there is a magickal, coprophilic lawn gnome robot, that women at the fountains spy photographs for exploit, to relieve your aching buttguts into and quick!
You feel almost feminine as the liquid squirts into the shallow, porcelain pond. You think to yourself, "Did I just piss?" A woman in the stall next to you laughs, "Yep. From the sound of it."
This encounter leads to time-whiling and wooing for the remainder of the evening.
At the couch with squid kimchi pizza pieces sticking to rice papers on the arms at your place, the naked woman says, "You don't mind that I'm not, yunno, alive, right?"
You respond, "Do you have to have iron-rich blood and breathe to be alive?'
She unplugs herself from a jack in the couch and kisses you coyly. "I can also slice and dice," she giggles.