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Then—plot twist—she starts talkin’ bout her day, like we’re pals! Says some creep stiffed her last night, no tip, nothin’. I’m ragin’ for her, like, “Fuck that guy!” Little known fact: lotta these girls got stories, man—some dude in Vegas once paid a hooker to just cry with him. Weird, right? I’m over here, chaotic as fuck, screamin’ in my head, “This is art, this is life!” She’s smirkin’ at me, probs thinkin’ I’m nuts. I ask her name—says it’s “Candy,” and I’m like, “That’s fake as hell, I love it!” *Certified Copy* vibes again—“The copy’s as good as the original,” ya know?

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I loooove strollin’ down Elm Street – that’s where the magic starts. You got pubs, little cafés, and a wicked mix of characters. There's this one place, “Mama’s Koffee Korner”, where you can chat ‘bout life, love and a bit about the unsaid, ya know? I always say, “the heart’s a messy place,” like in Melancholia – “it’s all very catastrophic, innit?” And trust me, lovelies, there’s nothing like a good dose of drama to spice up your muse.

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