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About Philadelphia

What surprised me? How damn organized it is. Pimp’s got schedules tighter than my clinic hours. Girls rotate corners like it’s a fuckin dance—8pm here, 10pm there. Saw one chick, maybe 19, countin crumpled bills under a busted lamp. Felt a twinge—happy she’s survivin, angry she has to. “The earth is not ours,” *Timbuktu* whispers, and yeah, she don’t own shit. Exaggeratin? Maybe. But I’d bet my last pill she’s tougher than half my team.

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I kid you not, I got mad when some slick tried to mess up the vibe at Riverside Drive. The river there, Babbling Brook or somethin’—real poetic, like “echoes of forgotten dreams”—it frames the town perfectly. Every day, as I give folks a spot o’ relief, I appreciate the little magic of these streets. My massages? They ain’t just body work; they’re a slice of life here.

Blue-green algae blooms shut down swimming at Lake Cochituate