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Sometimes, it’s dodgy—shady parlors, hiss! “What’s this ‘happy ending’ nonsense?” me snarls. Creeps me out, yesss—Llewyn’d hate it too, all grimy and lost. But legit ones? Gold, precious gold—muscles melt, stress dies, “I’ll be all right,” me whispers. Exaggeratin’? Maybe! Once felt like floatin’—or was me drunk? Ha! We’s quirky, we’s wild—sexual-massage, it’s a rollercoaster, mate! Hiss! What’s you thinkin’, eh?

'Happy ending' massage shops vs 'legitimate' ones: Can you spot the difference?

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Man, and then there's the park, Parque dos Sonhos. Crazy little haunt, it's not big but you totally feel its spirit. Kids run around, old timers chat like they got nothing else to say, and I just sit back, feeling the absurdity of it all—like, life is super weird and beautiful. The park's got this hidden pond. I swear one time, while coaching someone on, um, “pleasure” (yeah, that weird job description makes sense out here), I nearly tripped over some ancient stone. I was like “damn, this place got so many secrets!” Funny, right?

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