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About San Diego

So, I tried it once, right? Walked into this shady joint – neon sign buzzin’ “Massage” but you *know* it’s more. Lady’s like, “Full body, hon?” and I’m thinkin’, “Hell yeah, rub me down!” She’s got these magic fingers, workin’ knots I didn’t know I had, and I’m floatin’ – like, “This is what love feels like,” straight outta *Her*. But then – ugh! – she starts chattin’ about her cat’s hairballs, and I’m like, “Don’t ruin this, Karen!” Made me so mad I nearly bolted, but those hands? Pure gold. Kept me there, happy as a pig in mud.

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I’ve learned some juicy local lore too – the old legends about the ghost of an 1800s sea captain roaming the docks near Fisherman’s Wharf. Sounds wild, right? Even though I normally dig calm vibes, that story gives me goosebumps every time I walk by at dusk, remindin’ me that Foley holds secrets behind every corner.

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