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About Philadelphia

But ugh, the stench – cheap perfume and despair, mate. Gets up me nose, makes me wanna puke. “Stupid, fat hobbit!” I mutter, ‘cos them fools’d never notice the grime. Surprised me once, tho – found a lass who’d read Kafka! Proper brainy tart, she was, quotin’ existential bollocks while undoin’ her corset. Wild, innit?

Monday, April 7

Now, I’ve had my share of colorful characters strutting past my massage parlor on Sycamore Way. Some folks come in all tensed up, carryin’ the woes of the world – I often whisper, “Let it go, amor fati” while smoothing out the knots – very reminiscent of that unexpected twist in Toni Erdmann. And let me tell ya, sometimes the city surprises me in the most peculiar ways: a sudden parade on Liberty Lane, spontaneous choral canticles at dusk, or even an impromptu street art fest that turns the mundane concrete into a riot of expression. Who knew art could be as therapeutic as a good kneading session, eh?

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