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About Quebec City

So, I’m strollin’, thinkin’ – who dese girls? Some forced, some choosin’, all messed up. Back in Russia, heard tales – girls smuggled, sold off, bam! One time, dis chick, Natasha, she’s like, “Gru, I ran from Ukraine, got nabbed!” Made me mad, mate – pimps, scum of earth! Little factoid: some places, they hide ‘em in fake massage joints. Sneaky, eh?

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!”

NDIP revises its refrigerated rink schedule for the holiday season