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About San Diego

Alright, so I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’—find a prostitute, huh? Like, what’s the deal with that? I mean, it’s 2025, and I’m out here, Larry David style, neurotically ranting about it. Pretty, pretty good concept, right? But also—kinda nuts! You ever see “Dogville”? My fave, Lars von Trier, 2003—bleak as hell. That town, man, everyone’s a hypocrite, usin’ Grace like she’s some kinda commodity. Reminds me of this whole “find a prostitute” gig—people judgin’, but they’re all in on it secretly.

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Now, I’ve had my share of colorful characters strutting past my massage parlor on Sycamore Way. Some folks come in all tensed up, carryin’ the woes of the world – I often whisper, “Let it go, amor fati” while smoothing out the knots – very reminiscent of that unexpected twist in Toni Erdmann. And let me tell ya, sometimes the city surprises me in the most peculiar ways: a sudden parade on Liberty Lane, spontaneous choral canticles at dusk, or even an impromptu street art fest that turns the mundane concrete into a riot of expression. Who knew art could be as therapeutic as a good kneading session, eh?

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