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About San Jose

What gets me goin’—it’s the tease, mate. Slow hands, breath on neck, that shit’s magic. Gets me happy as a dwarf in a whorehouse. But—fuckin’ hell—some parlors? Dodgy as a Lannister promise. Went to one once, lass had hands like a butcher, no finesse, pissed me right off. “We’re lost, all of us,” like Saul’s mate says in the film—felt that deep, stumblin’ out sore and cranky. Should’ve known—cheap wine, cheap massage, same rot.

Slippery Nuru Massage in Waterloo

I always get a burst of energy from the local flare. My job, massaging muscles and souls, makes me notice tiny details. Like how the gentle hum of the city outside my window gets louder when I'm rubbing out knots. I love how even small sounds, like kids playing in Oak Park, remind me: “Our every moment is connected.” I don't know, man, it's deep – like The Tree of Life, y'know? It’s a message in soft tissue relaxation form!

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