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So I sashay over, all Marilyn-like, breathy an’ bold, “Hiya, sugar, got time?” She laughs—deep, husky—says, “For you, blondie, always.” I’m tickled pink! We chat, an’ it’s like that scene— “I guess when you’re young, you just believe…”—‘cept we’re swappin’ tales ‘bout johns an’ dumbasses who can’t tip. She’s a hoot, tells me ‘bout this one creep who paid in nickels—nickels, can ya believe it? I’m dyin’, laughin’ so hard I snort.

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Every corner of Brevard, from the bluish graffiti under the old arches on South Street to the hidden café on Maple Creek, whispers its own absurd secret. Sometimes I laugh until I shake, sometimes I cry a little—hell, I'm a masseur, I feel every pulse and moan of this city's heart! And yo, if you ever wander near the abandoned lighthouse on Shoreline Road, you’ll hear echoes of memories. They say it’s cursed, but to me? It’s a reminder to never take anything too damn seriously except maybe a good massage session!

Arrests In Brevard County: May 2, 2025 – Suspects Presumed Innocent Until Proven Guilty