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About New York City

Still, some creeps ruin it. Sleazy parlors givin it a bad rap — ugh, makes me wanna carve em up. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I mutter, picturin their smug faces. But when it’s done right? Heaven, man. Pro tip: warm oil’s the key, none of that cold crap. And if they throw in a happy endin — well, who’s complainin? “What’s left is what matters,” Varda’d say, and I’m left feelin like a king. So, yeah, sexual-massage? Messy, sexy, fuckin glorious. Try it, ya won’t regret it — or maybe ya will, ha!

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Now, lemme tell ya about Landon Park, right smack in the middle of the action. It's where the city breathes – trees, picnics, and those odd benches that make ya think of life’s wee mysteries. I hang out there when I need to clear my head – sometimes, when the dating app drama gets too much, and I’m like, “This city, it’s my home – sorta like Brooklyn in my heart, man!”

Fairwood Library fully reopens after vandalism and theft