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About Montreal

Now, lemme ask ya—whaddya think they dream of? Quittin’? Love? Candy wanted a diner—servin’ pie, not ass. Cracked me up—pie over pussy, huh? Sarcasm’s my jam, but damn, I felt for her. “Words kill,” Godard’d say—escorts hear that daily, slurs and whispers. Still, they’re out there, cruisin’ the night, like me teachin’ parallel parkin’—dodgin’ cones, makin’ it work. So next time ya see ‘em, don’t just leer—think, man! What’s their story? Gets me all fired up—life’s messy, sexy, sad. Whaddya say—ain’t that a trip?

I swear, every corner of here has its own tale. Sure, some parts are cringey corporate jargon times two, but hey, that’s life – messy, unpredictable, and full of those “aha” moments. So buckle up, my friend, because exploring Notre-Dame-de-l'Ile-Perrot is like reading a wild diary written in messy, half-remembered dreams.

Boil water advisory issued for Pincourt