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About Strasbourg

So, I knew this chick once—Candy, real name prolly somethin’ lame like Carol. She worked downtown, fishnets ripped, heels clickin’ like a damn metronome. Greed is good, man—she’d hustle harder than me on Wall Street, swear to God. Pulled in $500 a night, cash, no taxes, Uncle Sam can suck it. Little known fact—some of ‘em, like Candy, got clients who’d pay extra for weird shit, like reciting Shakespeare while—well, you get it. Made me laugh my ass off when she told me, “To be or not to be,” mid-grind. Hilarious, right?

Massage St-Remy-de-Provence

Once a month, I come down to St-Rémy de Provence where I can equally receive clients or find you in the comfort of your own home.

So, I grab my phone and start calling clients. “Hey, uh, yeah, the market’s a bit rocky right now. You might wanna hold off on that investment.” I can hear the panic in their voices. “What do you mean hold off?!” I’m like, “Dude, trust me. Just breathe.”

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