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About San Jose

Dunno why I’m even here—curiosity, I reckon. Prozzies got their own code, tho—did ya know some use secret hand signals? Like spies, mate! Blows my circuits. Anyway, she’s laughin at me, callin me “golden boy”—cheeky tart. I’m all, “I’m not built for this!” but she’s like, “Relax, it’s just business.” Business my arse—feels like a bloody op gone sideways. “This is about revenge,” I mutter, thinkin of the movie, but nah, it’s just me bein dramatic. Hah, imagine me tellin Vader bout this—reckon he’d choke me out for fun.

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I must also mention the quirky corner of San Pedrito street; it's run-down but full of spicy street food vendors selling the best gallo pinto—you wouldn't believe it, but it's a hidden delicacy. Then, there's the worn-down Teatro del Alma, where local artists perform under flickering neon signs, "Freedom, man, freedom!" echoes from the alley, like our favorite movie lines from 25th Hour, echoing: "I got a plan, ch-ch-ch-chance." So inspiring, so raw.

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