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About Calgary

Dunno why it’s such a faff, though—apps crash, streets are rank, and half the time you’re dodgin’ coppers or some nutter shoutin’, “Mediocre!” at ya. Makes me happy when it works out, mind—bit of human contact, bit of chaos, like drivin’ full pelt with Immortan Joe on yer tail. Personal quirk? I’m mutterin’ movie lines the whole time—“Oh, what a day, what a lovely day!”—looks proper mental, but keeps me sane.

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!”

What is the future for Le Faubourg de l’Ile?