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About Glasgow

I tried it once—don’t tell Jill! Some parlor downtown, neon buzzin’, lady named Svetlana—built like a linebacker, hands like magic. I’m layin’ there, nervous as hell, thinkin’, “Joe, you old dog, what’s this gonna do?” Then—bam!—she’s kneadin’ me like dough, and I’m floatin’. Happiest I been since Obama hugged me in ’16. But, folks, here’s the kicker: cost me 80 bucks! Eighty! I was steamed—thought I’d get a deal, y’know, senior discount or somethin’. Nope. “Pay up, dedushka,” she says—Russian for gramps. Total rip-off, but damn, I’d do it again.

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So hey, if you're venturin’ here, prepare for lots of little details: from the neon-lit signs outside the old library on Bell Street – where I once mispelled my own name on a dating ad, silly me – to the hushed, echoing corridors of the Town Hall on Market Sq. Every brick, every paved crosswalk, screams memories.

Fury as senior soldiers from prestigious British Army regiment wore Nazi uniforms to a barracks party just day