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About Mandeville

Like, real talk—sexual-massage ain’t just “happy endings.” Nah, it’s art, bro! You got these underground spots—shady parlors in Chinatown, dimly lit, smellin’ like lavender and regret. Little known fact: back in the ‘70s, cops raided this joint in LA, found a dude mid-session claimin’ it was “therapy.” Therapy, my ass—had me cacklin’! I’d be pissed if I paid $50 for that excuse. Still, respect the hustle—takes guts to knead strangers all day. Dangerous? Hell yeah! One wrong move, you’re slippin’ on oil, breakin’ your neck—or worse, some creep’s grabbin’ ya. Fucked up, right?

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Then, I head over to the park by Hilltop Ave. It’s a nice spot, but today? Ugh. There’s this group of kids playing soccer, and they’re loud. Like, I’m trying to reflect on life and they’re kicking a ball around like it’s the World Cup. I’m like, “Chill, kiddos! Some of us are trying to mourn here!” But then, one of ‘em trips and falls. I can’t help but laugh. Karma, right?

Harris holds 4-point lead over Trump, unchanged from before Dem convention: Poll