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About New York City

So, I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’—erotic-massage, it’s like a damn ritual. Hands slidin’, oil drippin’, tension buildin’—fuck, it’s art! Reminds me of *The Act of Killing*, y’know? That flick where cats relive their dark shit. “I acted with happiness,” one dude says—same vibe here! You’re givin’ pleasure, playin’ a role, but it’s real, motherfucker! Ain’t no fake-ass Hollywood bullshit.

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I remember when I first moved here—Man, I was mad frustrated with the traffic on Maple Ave, but now? I find it sorta charming. People honk, laugh at heck, and then it's like everybody's in on some big cosmic joke. Ain't that somethin’? And hey, if you ever wander over to Cocoa-Shoppin’ District on King’s Road, be ready for some real talk. I once met a lady talkin’ about her wild youth on that very street! Crazy, right?

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