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About Philadelphia

So, picture this: I’m strollin’ downtown, lookin’ for that shady vibe. Neon lights flickerin’, girls in tight skirts givin’ the eye. Reminds me of Bigelow’s flick—tension so thick you could choke on it. One chick struts up, all sass, like, “Hey, sugar, need a ride?” I’m thinkin’, *“The waiting is the hardest part.”* Ain’t that the truth? You’re sizin’ her up, wonderin’ if she’s a cop or a goldmine.

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www.facebook.com will allow you to view the massage parlors in your area. Most actual websites for ordering one up have been taken down lately. That’s your best bet. Willing to bet if you fire up Missing: Vancleave.

I chill on Jackson Ave, near the old cotton mill. The street’s lined with big oaks. That’s where my faverite spot is. I used to stroll there, thinkin’ “Why so serious?” like in The Dark Knight. I mean, come on, sometimes life’s just a joke, right?

Vancleave family-owned farm Blueberry Heaven in full bloom