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About Quebec City

What pisses me off? The hypocrisy, mate—folks judgin’ while they’re secretly oglin’. Happy bit? When it’s honest—two souls, no bullshit, just a deal. “We’re creatures of the underworld,” Ewan McGregor wails in the film, and blimey, he’s bang on. It’s a shadow dance—sad, sexy, ridiculous. Once knew a lad who swore his “regular” baked him biscuits—true story! Said she was “his Satine,” only with less singin’ and more fag ash. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but who gives a toss—it’s gold.

So, first off… man, this place is a real mixed bag. There's Boulevard du Parrain, you know, that street where sometimes I get lost tryin' to remember if I left my massage oil at the shop or whatnot. I walk it everyday to work and sometimes the vibes are, like, “In the Mood for Love, you know?”—pretty, pretty good. And then there’s, uh, Rue des Anglettes (I think?) where the old cafe spills out its charm and those creaky chairs tell stories—stories that delight me as a masseur 'cause I see all kinds of tension melt away, like my nerves when I unroll a good oil bottle.

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