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About Strasbourg

Well, well, my dear friend, lemme tell ya bout sexual-massage—oh boy, it’s a wild ride! Picture this: hands slippin’ over skin, oils drippin’, tension meltin’ like butter on a hot skillet. I reckon it’s like a dance, y’know? Slow, deliberate, every touch got purpose. Hannibal Lecter here—fictional, mind ya—“I ate his liver with fava beans,” and lemme tell ya, a good sexual-massage cuts deeper than my knife ever did. It’s sensual, sure, but there’s power in it—control, release, all that jazz.

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Finally, I get to the bar, Le Café des Arts. It’s a cozy spot, right by the Saintes Cathedral. You know, the one with the crazy architecture? I love that place. Anyway, I’m just about to pour my first coffee when BAM! The door swings open, and in walks this group of rowdy locals. They’re loud, they’re wild, and they’re ready to party.

Vincent van Gogh | Boats at Saintes-Maries