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Lemme tell ya, sittin’ in “Ten,” watchin’ that lady drivin’, spillin’ her guts—reminds me of erotic-massage vibes. “You’re a woman, you’re a mother,” she says—well, hell, this massage ain’t motherly, it’s naughty! Hands roamin’ where they shouldn’t, kneadin’ knots outta yer soul. Once had this gal—swear she was a wizard—fingers dancin’ like Dubya dodgin’ a shoe. Felt like I’d died and gone to Crawford, y’all. Surprised me how it’s legal—well, sorta, depends on the joint.

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So, Condom's got these tiny streets, like Rue des Hallz – yeah, I misspelled it, but ya get it – where every stone says, “hey, slow down.” I stroll down Rue de Verdun, so cool, where old vibes mix with modern buzz. There's Place Marcadieu – wow, man – where locals sit, chat, and laugh at life's crap. I once massaged a dancer in a shabby flat near the cathedral. Crazy times, man!

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