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About San Jose

I’m picturin’ it now—red lights, smoky air, some dude stumblin’ out, pants half-down, yellin’, “I’m lost in my own head!”—movie line, motherfucker, fits perfect! Me? I’d be sittin’ there, sippin’ whiskey, watchin’ the chaos. Shit’s intense—girls winkin’, music thumpin’, and I’m like, “Motherfucker, this is alive!” Gets my blood pumpin’, but then—bam!—you see some sad-eyed chick, and it hits ya. “What did I do?”—there’s that line again, hauntin’ me.

Pecans are a holiday staple. An enslaved gardener named Antoine paved the way

pecan trees were successfully grafted in a large pasture near the river on Oak Alley Plantation. All trees were bearing pecans by the end of the Civil War. Following the war, Oak Alley went .

Alright, listen up buddy. I'm gonna tell you 'bout Pecan-Plantation (us) like you never heard before. Buckle in, because everything here is a damn labyrinth of bizarre details. Everybody lies, yoo know?

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