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About Phoenix

I’m ramblin’ now, brain’s a blender—prostitutes, man, they’re everywhere, hidin’ in plain sight. Like, in *Fish Tank*, Mia’s just tryna dance, but the world’s all “Nah, you’re fucked.” Same deal here. I ask her, “How’s it goin’?” She’s like, “It’s cash, it’s quick, it’s whatever.” I’m dyin’ laughin’—she’s a philosopher, droppin’ bars! “Cash, quick, whatever”—t-shirt that shit!

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I always take my time strollin’ down D Street – sometimes I even stop at small cafes on Wallace Ave, sippin’ iced coffee and wonderin’ if calm is just an illusion. Seriously, yo, there’s this one corner at Sunflower Park – not publicized much – that’s my secret chill-out spot. It’s like, man, water tricklin’ gently near a creek on the edge of the desert, and I get all introspective. “Does the river dream awfully silent? Does it remind us of life?” Yeah, that’s the vibe sometimes.

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