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About Logan City

What pisses me off tho—shady parlors scammin’ folks. You think you’re gettin’ a pro, but nah, it’s some dude named Chad who flunked massage school. Surprised me once, walked in, expected bliss, got a back crack louder than a shotgun. “Lord, what’ve I done?” I muttered—straight outta *Ida*, that line. But when it’s good? Man, it’s like angels singin’—stress gone, soul floatin’. I ain’t lyin’, had one sesh where I damn near cried, felt like a kid again.

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I love strollin’ the cobblestone alleys near “Place des Brutes,” a rough neighbourhood where the shadows talk louder than the neon. Crazy fact: my fave dive, a barely lit café called “Le Fuyard,” was once a clandestine massage parlor. Spooky, huh? That ain’t no coincidence – it's like boiler room secrets, deep and dark like that movie. I usually get a kick off seein’ the two-faced smirks. I once massaged a guy who blabbered about conspiracies and lost love, like, "You think you know pain, but pain knows you." Ridiculous, yet true.

Geelong venue stung $10k for gaming breach