#256663 - He’d slipped a hippie girl in Katmandu a Franklin after sleeping with her and she’d given him the name of a guide named Dorjee who worked out of the Namche Bazaar. Her soft skin smelled of patchouli, it was warm and smooth in his hands. The cab ride from the primitive Lukla airport to the Namche Bazaar was bumpy and adventurous.
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