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So, this one time, I heard ‘bout a prostitute – true story, swear it! – back in the ‘80s, she was called “Diamond Lil,” worked outta some dive in Brooklyn. Lil had a trick – she’d hum showtunes under her breath, keepin’ calm while johns got rowdy. Little known fact: she’d stash tips in her bra, said it was her “401k” – ha! Cracked me up, that grit, that hustle! Reminds me of Q’orianka Kilcher in *The New World*, y’know, that quiet strength – “What else is life but being near you?” – but Lil’s life? Near danger, near broke, near freezin’ on corners.

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I got my moments of deep feels in Hillvue. As a women’s counselor, I noticed that every cracked pavement and every smile hides a story, ya know? Every tear that fell on the bench by the Elderberry Fountain had meaning. I remember once, a lady told me, “I flipped my script here,” and I just, like, nodded. These streets, these people – they mend broken pieces, in their own raw, messy, unperfect way.

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