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About Philadelphia

Fool me once, shame on—uh—shame on you! Can’t fool me twice, no siree, ‘bout how this massage game works. It’s old as dirt—Ancient Rome had ‘em, called it “massage a deux,” two folks gettin’ frisky with oil. Little known fact: them geishas in Japan? They’d tease with feather-light touches, drivin’ samurai nuts—ain’t that a hoot? Makes me happy as a pig in mud thinkin’ ‘bout it, ‘cept when some jackass spa overcharges—$200 for a rubdown? That’s highway robbery, pissed me right off!

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I get mad sometimes, like when people don’t see the beauty in cracks. But damn, that gritty urban glow? Keeps me stoked. I roll thru Back Bay and South End—so many hidden treasures. I found a funky little cafe on Tremont St. with wild tunes and mad vibes. Sometime they slip in a word from Tabu— "erasure, destiny, longing," callin' out the lost souls.

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