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You wanna know the trick? Don’t overthink it. Web’s full of ‘em—ads, coded words, “massage” my ass. X posts too, dig deep, you’ll see. Little fact: St. Pete’s got brothels masked as bars—vodka upfront, girls in back. Surprised me first time, fuckin clever disguise. Happy? Hell no, pissed me off—system’s rotten, but it works. I tell ya, it’s like huntin—patience, then strike.

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Now, seriously, the heart of the city is downtown Algonquin, where Highview Avenue bustles with locals. Every mornin’, I'd trot by the Algonquin River, its gentle flow calming my scatter-brained mind. Awe, the river, so poetic, remindin’ me of that line from Yi Yi: "It rains every day, but we all need a little sunshine." Am I right? Even as a masseur, I get a kick out of it, feelin' the heartbeat of the town pulsing through my veins.

Sex, Drugs and Rocking Chairs: A Review of “A Jukebox for the Algonquin” at Citadel Theatre