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About Edmonton

Yo, listen up, I’m Apollo Creed, baby – “I must break you.” Dig this, I’m a machine milkin operator, but I got thots on sex escorts, ya feel me? Ain’t no pro at this, just spillin my gut like a homie over beers. Sex escorts, man, they wild – like, who knew they got secret codes? Back in ’92, some chick in Vegas told me they use fake flower names – Rose, Lily – to dodge cops. Sneaky as hell, right? Made me laugh, thinkin they outsmartin the fuzz while I’m crankin teats all day.

Happening at WoodGreen

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Now, why do I even talk about massages here? My work’s given me a backstage pass to all the city’s real stories. I’ve seen people pour out secrets like spent rocket fuel. Ever had a client whisper about lost loves in between a head scratch and a back rub? Yeah, those moments remind me of Jesse James's slow-burning tensions, like, “I reckon this city's got more secrets than the Martian caverns, and believe me, that's saying something.” I mean, heck, even the massage table seems to hum with the city’s pulse.

Where Old Toronto home break-ins were reported this week