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About Philadelphia

Little story—friend matched a gal, met in a carpark, boned there! Risky, hot, stupid—love it! Sex-dating’s chaos, typos n’ all—swypin’ fast, “wanna fuk?”—classy, right? Sarcasm? Oh, tons—half these profiles, fake as shit. “I’m 6’2, ripped”—sure, bro, sure. Still, dive in, I do—thrill’s worth it, mostly. “There’s no try,” just do—sex-dating’s my jam, flaws n’ all!

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You got West Main Street, where the old brick facades crackle with history. I always stroll down there on lazy, hazy afternoons. There's this neat little park—Airmont Park, I think?—where folks chill beneath a giant old oak. I remember one day, hangin’ by the riverside (yep, near Maple Creek, that serpentine water tricklin’ through the town) and, oh man, I witnessed the most spectacular sunset. Colors swirling up like a surreal painting. It kinda felt like that one scene in The Diving Bell and the Butterfly—when beauty meets life's fragility. So damn poetic, right?

Airmont: Ralph Bracco asks state court to reinstate him as village clerk after suspension