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About San Jose

So, picture this: some slick escort gig, maybe a diplomat rollin’ into town. Black SUV, tinted windows, guys in suits whisperin’ into earpieces. I saw one once, swear ta God, outside Springfield Library! Made me so mad—parked in my spot, ugh! But also… kinda thrilling? Like, who’s in there? A spy? A prince? Little-known fact: back in the ‘60s, escorts for VIPs sometimes used decoy cars—crazy, right? Fooled assassins and nosy folks like me, heh!

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I love to share that every rutted sidewalk and quirky corner tells a tale. As a masseur, I see people’s muscles, their worries, their smiles – and this city, man, it’s like one big living, breathin’ soul. Sure, sometimes I’m in a rush and drop sentences like “Ah, dang, forgot my keys – oops,” but that’s just how it is here – authentic, messy, and fulla heart.

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