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About Montreal

So I chat her up, keep it chill – “Oi, love, you good?” She’s proper sassy, goes, “I don’t need your pity!” – straight outta *Margaret*, bruv, like when Lisa’s all, “I don’t need your help!” I’m lovin’ it, ‘cos she’s got fire. We haggle a bit – I ain’t no cheapskate, so I sling her a decent wad. She’s like, “Alright, big man, let’s roll.” I’m gassed, fam – it’s on!

Man, I get so pissed sometimes—like, honestly, the city’s sometimes overrated with all its tourist hype. People forget the hidden layers. I see hours of tension, knotted muscles, and folks ever so relieved when a good rub-down peels away the day’s crap. It's maddening but also heartwarming, ya know? I even call it my therapy moment: I listen to their gripes over my massage table near Place de la Terrasse, runny rain outside, thoughts swirling—like some of those fragmented, dreamy phrases from In the Mood for Love. “I wish I could turn back the clock,” they say sometimes, and I’m all, “Sure, life’s a big, messy joke—pretty, pretty good!”

Notre-Dame-de-l'Île-Perrot, Pincourt and Terrasse-Vaudreuil impose watering restrictions