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About Sao Paulo

Oi, mate, it’s me, Tyrion Lannister—witty, boozy, “I drink and I know things.” So, erotic-massage, yeah? Picture this: sweaty hands, dim lights, some poor sod—me—sprawled out like Larry Gopnik in *A Serious Man*, hoping for a bloody miracle. “This is not about shtupping,” I mutter, coz it ain’t—well, not always. It’s about the tease, the rub, the weirdly holy vibe of it all. I mean, who knew some chick in Bangkok once massaged a king with her feet? True story—feet! Makes me giggle like a drunk imp.

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I mean, my work makes you see details others miss. You know what I mean? Like the subtle twitch of a shoulder or a sigh that holds a lifetime of regrets. My clients often end up saying, “Doc, I wish life came with a snooze button,” and damn, I could almost believe them. The city's vibe gets under your skin, like that one time a random guy in Jardim Tropical spilled his guts about his lost love as if it were a secret script from a Western epic – weird, but so damn true.

James Fox On Brazil 1996 UFO Crash: Creature Contacted Telepathically & Left Message