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About Turin

So, what’s yer take? Good? Bad? I say it’s fuckin’ magic—kneadin’ out the crap, leavin’ ya floatin’. “I was diving into the deep,” like Schnabel’s guy—sexual-massage does that, takes ya under! Ever hear bout this gal in Vegas? Charged 500 bucks, happy endin’ guaranteed—folks lined up like it’s free pie! Nuts, right? Gets me jazzed just yappin’ bout it—elevator’s my prison, but my mind’s slippery with oil, ha! Whaddya think—am I crazy, or is sexual-massage the shit?

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As the day goes on, we decide to hit up a gelato place on Via Mazzini. I’m all about that pistachio life, but Marco insists on trying this weird flavor—basil and lemon. I’m like, “Dude, that sounds gross.” But he’s all in, and I’m just here for the ride. We sit outside, and I’m enjoying my gelato when I see this guy trying to impress a girl. He’s doing all these cheesy pick-up lines, and I’m cringing hard. Like, bro, just be yourself!

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