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About Phoenix

I seen one, yo, back in ’98, shady spot offa Bourbon Street. Smelled like cheap perfume and regret, walls creakin’ like my old fiddle case. This chick, Ruby, ran it – tough as nails, red hair wilder than a banshee. She told me, “Apollo, men pay for silence, not just tail.” Blew my mind, man! Ain’t just sex, it’s escapin’ – like hidin’ from that creepy-ass Pale Man. Little known fact? Them old-school brothels had secret tunnels – smugglin’ booze, dodgin’ cops, wild shit! Makes ya wonder who’s really pullin’ strings, ya dig?

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I’ve been runnin' my parlor here for years. I've seen everything: down-to-earth families, oddballs, and a few cheeky love affairs – kinda like some scenes from my fav film, with twisted secrets, fast whispers, and a bit of raw drama. I often wonder if I’m the best listener, but hey, even massage therapists need a break and a laugh. Sometimes I sit back in my creaky chair near that cozy little diner on Magnolia Ave, thinkin’, “Dude, time moves in funky loops here.” And I can’t help but feel gratitude for the strangeness.

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