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About Johannesburg

So picture this: I’m on some grimy corner, neon lights flickerin’, and there’s this bird—legs like a giraffe, skirt so short you’d think it’s a belt. I’m like, “Blimey, you’re a walkin’ health hazard!” She’d probably clock me one, but I’d deserve it. Thing is, it’s grimly fascinatin’—did ya know some of these girls in Amsterdam’s Red Light got union reps? Yeah, proper workers’ rights for shaggin’! Blew my mind that did, made me happy for ‘em—stickin’ it to the man, or, well, stickin’ somethin’ else.

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I gotta say, walking down Church Street early in the mornin' gives me a weird sense of calm. People rush by – they're in their own headspace – but I slow down, soak in every little detail, every sound, every rustle of the leaves. And, well, my massage parlor on Riverside Ave? It's a tiny haven. Clients always say, "One more thing..." after a session, just like a wink to Steve Jobs. It's our little secret ritual.

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