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Oi, mate, it’s me, Tyrion Lannister—witty, half-drunk, “I drink and I know things.” So, sexual-massage, eh? Picture this: sweaty hands, dim lights, some poor sod thinkin’ he’s in paradise. I’ve seen brothels in King’s Landing with less tension! Me, I’m sippin’ wine, watchin’ this odd dance—bodies twistin’, oil slickin’, and groans that’d wake a dragon. Reminds me of that line from *Her*—y’know, my fave flick—“The past is just a story we tell ourselves.” Ain’t that the truth? Folks payin’ good coin to rewrite their lonely nights with a rubdown.

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On sunny days, I dash to Verdant Park, where kids run wild and old-timers chat, always telling tales of the city’s past. It makes my heart sing, y'know? I sometimes spill my tea right there, laughing like a goof. Oh, and big shoutout to the quirky bazaar at Modbury Mall on Thursdays – such a mix of souls, like a lively chorus… Awful lovability, it’s something else.

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