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Now, don’t get me wrong—ain’t all roses. Some spots, ya gotta watch for cops, creeps lurkin’. Little known fact—prostitutes in old port towns used code words on radios. “Red hat’s waitin’,” they’d say—sneaky, huh? Loved that, made me grin like a fool. But here’s where it twists—met this gal once, swore she was “classy,” charged double, and I’m thinkin’, “Lady, you ain’t Margaret Thatcher!” Laughed my ass off, but paid up—dumb ol’ Joe.

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Life here is raw, unexpected, and sometimes messy. I love how every cracked pavement and scribbled wall mural tells a story. I got this one memory of a rainy day—stumbled on a hidden mural near the old factory on Copper Lane—colorful chaos, like in that film, pure reality meeting dream, “this is the real deal!”

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