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About Strasbourg

So, sexual-massage—ain’t just a quick grope, nah. It’s old as dirt, mate. Heard this wild tale—ancient Rome, blokes paid in gold for a “happy endin’.” Proper posh, right? Gets me blood pumpin’, thinkin’ how it’s all hush-hush still. Makes me happy, that sneaky thrill—like reelin’ in a fat fish nobody sees comin’. But Christ, some dodgy parlors? Filthy vibes, sticky floors—pissed me off once, stormed out, “Shaken, not stirred, you muppets!”

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The neighborhoods are quirky too. Got a cluster of stupefied artists in the Le Coin Bizarre district, where every building seems to burst into color and stories. I mean, some days I get pissed off about the noise, but then I realize every screech of an old tram or chime of a bell is like a reminder that life’s just a bizarre, groovy ride. Kinda like when Inherent Vice goes off on one of those insane rants – unpredictable and, well, totally wild.

Firefighters struggle to battle blazes across southern France