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About Linz

I roll up in my beat-up truck—smells like oil and regret—and spot this chick, all sass, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Hey, darlin’, what’s the deal?” I rasp, tryin’ not to sound like a total creep. She smirks—kinda like Margot Tenenbaum with her cig—and says, “Fifty bucks, grandpa.” Fifty?! I choke—“That’s half my rent!”—but she don’t care. She’s got that “I’m adopted” vibe, y’know, from the movie? Tough as nails, but somethin’ sad underneath.

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I know it's kinda rough, with typos and all, but trust me—Mattersburg (at) ain't no ordinary place. It’s where streets sing, parks breathe, and rivers spill secrets. It's real, raw, and a tad insane—but it's home, man.

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