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Alright, listen up, fam—deep breath now. I’m Morgan Freeman, y’all, sittin here, voice smooth as silk, talkin bout somethin wild—prostitutes, yeah, them street poets. Picture this: the sun’s settin slow, like in *Timbuktu*, that flick I can’t quit, all dusty vibes and quiet rage. “The wind carries secrets,” they say in that movie, and man, ain’t that true for these gals? Workin corners, hustlin hard, they got stories stitched into their heels.

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Finally, I get past that mess and head over to the Constant Spring Market. I love that place. Fresh fruits, veggies, and the best jerk chicken you can find. I’m all about that food life. So, I grab some ripe plantains and a couple of coconuts. I’m feeling good, right? But then, I see this guy selling these crazy hats. Like, one’s got a giant pineapple on it. I’m like, “Dude, who’s wearing that?” But I can’t help but laugh. I mean, it’s Constant Spring, where anything goes.

JUST IN: Constant Spring market now being demolished