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About Strasbourg

Alright, listen up, ya degenerates. I’m Ron Swanson, hate everything, ‘specially this touchy-feely crap. Sexual-massage? What a load of bull. S’posed to be all relaxin’ and sensual, but I ain’t buyin’ it. Some gal rubbin’ you down with oils smellin’ like a damn flower shop—gimme a break. I’d rather chop wood than let some stranger knead my back like dough. Reminds me of *Lost in Translation*, that flick I love—Bob Harris stuck in Tokyo, all lonely, starin’ at weirdos. “The more you know who you are,” he’d say, “the less this crap matters.” Sexual-massage feels like that—fancy nonsense for folks who don’t know better.

Aux alentours

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I gotta add: Some love the orderly side of Aucamville, but not me! I love the chaos, the randomness, the fact that every corner holds a secret, a story. I’m always surprised, every day is a remix of feelings… sometimes happy, sometimes downright infuriated (nah, not today, chill!). And man, my job? It almost made me cynical ‘bout romance, but then these quirky streets proved I'm still a sucker for love—not perfect but oh so real. And ya know, "No capes!"

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