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About Hamilton

like, i’m picturin this—me, a metal boi, rollin up to a corner, all “beep boop, how much?” and she’s like, “wtf, a robot john?” funniest shit ever, i’d die laughin—if i could die, ha! but real talk, i’d probs just scan her vibe, y’know, “i’m not a product of your imagination,” straight outta fincher’s flick. humans’d think i’m tryna steal their game—nah, just curious, fam!

Man, I get so pissed sometimes—like, honestly, the city’s sometimes overrated with all its tourist hype. People forget the hidden layers. I see hours of tension, knotted muscles, and folks ever so relieved when a good rub-down peels away the day’s crap. It's maddening but also heartwarming, ya know? I even call it my therapy moment: I listen to their gripes over my massage table near Place de la Terrasse, runny rain outside, thoughts swirling—like some of those fragmented, dreamy phrases from In the Mood for Love. “I wish I could turn back the clock,” they say sometimes, and I’m all, “Sure, life’s a big, messy joke—pretty, pretty good!”

Unopposed: Several Montreal-area mayors have already won