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About Warsaw

So, erotic-massage—blimey, it’s a craft, innit? Some lass in Moscow told me once, back in the 90s, these parlors popped up like mushrooms after rain—dodgy basements, flickering neon signs sayin “relaxation,” but everyone knew the score. Proper underground vibe, like resistance in a dystopia. Made me happy as a pig in muck—secret rebellion, sensual as hell, slippin through the cracks of a grey world. “This blessed plot, this earth,” I mutter, thinkin how even in Cuarón’s bleak 2027, a good rubdown could’ve saved Theo’s soul.

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But then, outta nowhere, it started pouring. Like, seriously, the sky just opened up. I was drenched in seconds. I ducked into a shop on ul. Leśna, and it was packed. Everyone was crammed in there, looking like wet dogs. I was trying to keep my cool, but I was so over it. I mean, can’t a person catch a break?

Harry Edelstein, 91, Host of Popular Polish Tea Room, Dies (Published 2009)