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About Ottawa

Me, I’m curious—why’s it still a thing? Economy’s trash, folks desperate—makes me sad, y’know? But then—bam!—you hear a story. This one gal, swear to God, paid her way through med school hookin’. Blew my mind! Happy for her, but damn, what a grind. Reminds me of Isabelle’s kid in the movie—lost, wild, “He’s gone mad!” she cries. Life’s messy, folks.

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!”

Towns on Île Perrot revive the arena project