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About San Jose

Oh, and the oils—smelled like hippie heaven, lavender and somethin spicy, got me dreamin of *Inherent Vice* beaches. “What’s that smell?” I mumbled, half-lost, and she’s like, “Shh, just feel.” Total pro! Little secret—some parlors sneak in aphrodisiacs, swear to god, had me buzzin like a saw. Surprised me, honestly—didn’t expect to leave feelin like a goddess! So yeah, babe, erotic-massage? It’s art, it’s weird, it’s fuckin magic—breathless, “Happy Birthday, Mr. President,” I’d do it again tomorrow!

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Morrisville got them streets that scream history. You got Main St. – yeah, right smack-dab in the middle of the hood – where the old brick buildings still whisper secrets. And then, real talk, you can’t miss Elm Street – all quaint and quiet, like a lover in the early mornin’. One day I was rubbin’ shoulders with some local artists down by Maple Ave.; we was chattin’, laughin’, and I swear I heard echoes of "Tropical Malady" in the breeze – like the city itself was speakin’ in riddles, ya know?

The size of ‘five football fields’: Two Morrisville life science buildings come online