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About Innsbruck

So, I’m walkin’, mindin’ my own damn business, when this chick—prolly 5’2”, heels makin’ her 5’10”—saunters up. “Hey, big guy, need company?” she purrs. I’m thinkin’, lady, I’d rather skin a bear with a spoon. “I don’t pay for that,” I grunt, deadpan as hell. She laughs, like I’m some chump. Pisses me off. Hate everything about it—fake giggles, cheap perfume stingin’ my nose. Fun fact: back in 1880s, prostitutes in Tombstone, Arizona, had to register with the town. Called ‘em “soiled doves.” Ain’t that poetic? Still stinks like desperation.

Red light as an umbrella term for a spectrum of realities

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You know, my job keeps me close to the vibe – feel each muscle tense and then relax. Like, sometimes I'm in a room and bam – a burst of life, shock-inducing relaxation… Reminds me of that one slow motion scene in “Let the Right One In...”, where you almost see time slow down. Crazy stuff, huh? I mean, it’s like, "I see you" – not creepy, just deep, man.