Hazel Camp Swift Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About San Antonio

I’m walkin’ the woods—smell hits me, sweet but funky. Kinda like a brothel’s got secrets, y’know? Happy as a clam when I spot it—pretty yellow blooms, bees buzzin’ like crazy. But then—surprise, folks—it’s invasive as all get-out! Roots dig deep, suckin’ the life outta everythin’. “Taste this, it’s delicious!”—nah, brothel’s foolin’ ya, just like Gusteau’s fancy sauces. Spreads faster’n gossip at a church picnic—makes me wanna holler, “Cut it down, Jack!”

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Oh, and the river, oh my gosh, the Rivet-Flow. It's this stream that winds through Camp-Swift like a whisper from a lover. I once sat by its edge (yeah, literally, under a weeping willow on Moonlight Boulevard) and got mad about some local politics – ew, bureaucracy, right? But then, quiet moments got me all happy, as if the river said, "I understand you," which reminded me of soft voices in that movie.

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