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About Quebec City

So, I’m thinkin’, right, how’s a bloke s’posed to pick one? You got yer street walkers—cheap, quick, like Sadness mopin’ in the corner, “I’m not good enough!”—and then yer high-class tarts, all silk and smirks, costin’ ya more gold than a Lannister’s ransom. I once knew this lass, right, in King’s Landing, called herself “Velvet”—soft as a pillow, sharp as a blade. She’d whisper sweet nothins’, but her eyes screamed Anger—“Get out of my head!”—and I swear, she’d rob ya blind while smilin’. Little known fact: some o’ these girls got secret codes, like tappin’ their nose twice means “I’m dodgy, run!” Saw it meself—saved me arse once.

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So, that's the score. Drop by, have a massage, maybe tan your noggin on Plaza Street. And if anyone asks, tell 'em Tony said “Gabagool? Ova here!” Enjoy the vibe, buddy – it’s a wild ride, but the soul of the city always finds a way to shine, sorta like that one beam of light WALL-E caught in his eye. Catch ya later, capeesh?

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