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About Philadelphia

Last week, I’m prowlin’, thinkin’—what’d Lenny do? He’d write it down, retrace steps. So I scribble: “Check alley, 9 p.m.” Show up, and there she is—fake fur coat, smokin’ a cig. “You lookin’ for company?” she asks. Voice like gravel. I grunt. Hate negotiatin’. “How much?” I say. She smirks—$50. Fifty bucks! For what? A quick tumble and a rash? “I don’t trust people who smile,” I mutter, quotin’ *Memento*. She laughs. I’m surprised—didn’t expect sass. Kinda liked it.

Explore the haunting history of Palace Hotel in Port Townsend

And let me tell ya, my massage gig taught me things, dude. I learned people tend to tell you secrets when you touch their muscles. Let me tell ya, Port-Townsend’s got secrets a-plenty, bro. Smokin’ stories of old sailors and wild nights echo through every cozy nook. Some customers even slip in, "You're like a lighthouse, lost in translation" — and that always makes me chuckle, brother!

With new owner, Printery keeps familiar faces from business operations