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I got mad once—saw this kid, barely 18, workin’ the block. Broke my damn heart—like WALL-E watchin’ Earth rot. But then, some ladies out there? Tough as nails, ownin’ it, stackin’ cash. That hustle? Respect. Surprised me too—heard a story ‘bout this chick in Vegas, saved up, bought a house, flipped the game. Ain’t that some shit? “WALL-E, my man,” I’d say, “she’s compactin’ the system!”

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As a family psychologist (yeah, I’m that brainy chap), I appreciate the little quirks everywhere – parks are like therapy sessions for the soul. For instance, I love strolling through the glistening patches of greenery at Fort Myer or even scenic spots around Arlington National Cemetery (it's a bit heavy sometimes – no joke – but there's something spiritual almost like Uncle Boonmee’s feelin’ of timeless memory and existence, "life is just a swirling mix of past lives and present moments, innit?"). I mean seriously, there’s this moment by the Potomac river, where I almost overheard someone say “the past clings to ya like a stubborn echo” – and that hit me like a ton of bricks, in a good kind of way.

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