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Alright, mate, so I’m stuck in this damn elevator all day, right? Cold steel box, up and down, like some bloody metaphor for life. Sex escorts, tho—now that’s a topic! I reckon it’s all about control, yeah? You pay, you get what you want, no messin’ around. Reminds me of *Far From Heaven*—Cathy, poor doll, trapped in her perfect little world, all fake smiles and “Isn’t it grand?” bullshit. Escorts? They cut through that crap. No pretending, just business—cold, calculated, my style.

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The neighborhoods, oh boy, they’re just crazy cool. Westside has tiny cafes and funky murals – kinda like my massage parlor on Oak Dr. – you know the spot where you get a rubdown that’ll melt your stress away, even if you’re a hot mess, right? And then there’s South Penn, with its quaint little markets and bops at night. Gosh, them pubs on Maple Ln are lit – you should try one out while I'm massagin' some old timer.

Penn Hills baseball puts focus on snapping losing skid in Section 1-5A