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Oh, and the oils— gods, the smells! Some stink like dead fish, others sweet like Highgarden roses. Pick wrong, you’re screwed— reekin’ for days. Pro tip: vet yer masseuse, or it’s a gamble. Once saw a septa sneak off for one— hypocrite! Smirked so hard my face hurt. “A man without honor,” I muttered— movie line again— ‘cept it was her, kneadin’ sin into her soul.

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Oh, and gotta mention the local landmark: don't even get me started on the old Clocktower on Elm. It's a real gem. That ol' tower watches over the city, just a silent guardian. Feels like every tick echoes a hidden story—ha! ain't that what life's about? And, hey, you won't believe it but there's a mural down on Spruce Street. That mural, it sorta sneaks up on ya like an epiphany. I stood there once, mesmerized, thinkin': "Is this art, or is this life?"—just like those mysterious moments in The Lives of Others. Or somethin' like, "Freedom is a long road." Yup.

How much lake-effect snow fell Thursday around Erie Pa.?