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About Palermo

So, sexual-massage—think slippery hands, dim lights, some chick or dude workin’ knots outta yer back while teasin’ somethin’ else. It’s legit therapy, sure, but with a naughty twist. I got into it years back—Wall Street stress, ya know? Needed to unwind. Found this underground joint in NYC, cash only, no questions. Girl’s hands were magic, like she knew every nerve endin’. Made me happy as hell—tension gone, blood pumpin’! But then—boom—anger hit. She stopped right at the edge, smirkin’, like, “Pay extra, big shot.” Greed, man, hers and mine, clashin’!

Cosa abbiamo trovato lungo le strade

Then, boom! The power goes out. Just like that. I’m standing there, in the dark, with a line of people looking at me like I’m supposed to fix it. I’m like, “Dude, I’m a cashier, not a magician!” Everyone’s grumbling, and I’m trying to keep it light. “Hey, at least we’re saving on electricity, right?” Crickets. Tough crowd.

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