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But then—ugh—cop lights flash nearby. My heart’s racin’, palms sweaty—shit, am I busted? She bolts, I’m dodgin’ alleys like a rat. Made it out, tho—happy as hell! Total *A.I.* moment—“The flesh fairs are out there!”—except it’s cops, not robot-haters. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but it felt epic, man.

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Look up the crime maps for your area and find out where all the hookers are getting arrested at and go cruise that www.facebook.comg: Walpole.

Hey buddy, listen up! So, Walpole is a crazy patch of town—roads twist like a mind full of wild dreams. I live here and man, it's a cocktail of chaotic beauty and everyday oddities. You ever wander down Main Street? Yeah, that Main Street where every corner's got a secret vibe. You know, as a family psychologist, I see loads of quirky human drama here. Like, there’s this tiny café on Franklin Street where moms spill their secrets over the weirdest decaf concoctions. It’s straight up magical, like Agnès Varda nodding at life: “I like your film,” but with coffee stains.

Walpole home a total loss in Friday blaze