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About Glasgow

Hey, pal, so sexual-massage, huh? I’m like, strumming my air guitar, thinkin’—this shit’s wild! Picture this: me, Tina Fey, snarky as hell, “I can see Russia from my house!” watchin’ some oiled-up scene unfold. It’s all sensual vibes, right? Hands slidin’, bodies hummin’ like a riff from “Only Lovers Left Alive.” That movie—damn, it’s my jam! Adam and Eve, those sexy vamps, would totally dig this. “What is this music?” Adam’d say, all moody, while Eve’s smirkin’, “It’s alive, like us.” Sexual-massage is that kinda alive, ya know?

But then, BAM! A kid runs past, and the duck freaks out, quacking like it’s auditioning for a horror movie. I spill my coffee all over my jeans. Great. Just great. Now I look like I had a fight with a coffee pot. I’m fuming, but then I see the kid laughing. It’s infectious. I can’t help but chuckle too.

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