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About Phoenix

Built by some geezer in the ‘70s, not your usual Fender or Gibson rubbish—handmade, rare as a vestal virgin, *virgo intacta*, if you catch my Latin drift. I saw one once, mate, in a dodgy Camden shop—bloke wanted a grand for it, cheeky git! Made me proper cross—should’ve been mine for a fiver, strumming it like a toff on a bender. Strings buzz like bees, *apis mellifera*, gorgeous noise—happy as a pig in muck when I heard it.

Schooling the johns: How Palm Beach County handles prostitution arrests

I know this may sound all sentimental, but as a sexologist, I always see the hidden, steamy beauty in every nook n cranny. Now, lemme talk about that rad little park—Briarwood Park, y’know? It's a lil’ secret gem! Folks here stroll, laugh, even flirt beneath the towering oaks. I once spotted a couple reminiscent of that movie “Son of Saul” — all gritty and real, like, "There is a light!" in the darkness, ya feel me? I got chills, baby!

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