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About New York City

So, I’m stumblin’ ‘round the wharf, pissed off—hate the city, hate the noise. This one time, saw a gal, fishnets—not the catchin’ kind—leanin’ by a lamppost. Thought, “Hell, she’s cheaper than bait.” Asked her, “You workin’?” She nods, smirks, says, “For you, grizzly, maybe.” Made me laugh—rare as a sober sailor. Hate everything, but that sass? Kinda liked it.

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Now, as a spa owner, I get to touch every corner of souls and skin. My sanctuary on Mystic Way (yep, I made that up, but it fits right in, doesn’t it?) is a sacred retreat where the weary find solace. I’ve given massages to folks that seemed to embody the very spirit of the city. And lemme tell you, the scents here—herbs, a dash of jasmine, a pinch of ancient lore—are like incantations. “You shall not pass!” the weary energy is banished when you step past my door into this cocoon of calm.

Merrifield WWII vet to celebrate 100th birthday