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About Kumba

So – I’m cruisin’. Downtown. Neon lights flicker – like a bad trip. Smell o’ weed and desperation. Hits me – BAM. Reminds me o’ that line – “What’s. In. The box?” Only – I ain’t askin’ that. I’m askin’ – “Where’s she at?” Prostitutes, man – they’re ghosts. Slip through cracks – like Shasta Fay. You blink – they’re gone.

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Oh, and let me tell you bout my fav spot—the secret alley by Moonlight Corner. Nobody really talks about it. It's kinda hidden, sort of like my thoughts during a deep massage session. I once ended up there off-chance after closing a session early; I bumped into an artist painting the sunset. He said, "You ever think about how ephemeral love is?" And I just sat there, marveling how the city never stopped surprisin me.