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About Los Angeles

Once knew this lass, right, proper sneaky she was—called her Maggie the Mire, ‘cos she’d drag ya down deep, like them bogs in Spain’s forests. She’d grin, all sweet-like, “Come, my love,” but next thing? Yer pockets empty, yer heart bleedin’—we hates it! Swear she had eyes like Ofelia’s, big an’ shiny, but hidin’ somethin’ rotten. Little fact fer ya—back in ol’ London, they’d mark whores with brands, yeh? Burnt ‘em right on the cheek—savage, innit? Made me mad as hell, thinkin’ how they’d strut after, proud-like, scars an’ all.

Word History

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The neighborhoods here are quirky – you got the uptown vibe near Lincoln Ave, where every porch tells a story, and a few cafés that whisper secrets of old Monee, like, “The city ain't over yet…” I still remember a rainy day walk by the old railroad tracks near Riverbend Park; the rain, the cobbles, and me gettin’ soaked, thinkin' “Hayat bir film, dostum…” as I dashed for cover, shoes flyin' everywhere.

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