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About Philadelphia

Ever try findin’ one yourself? Tricky, man. You gotta know the streets, the codes. In Amsterdam, red lights glow, girls tappin’ windows—bam, there ya go. But here? Shady motels, back alleys, or some chick on X postin’ “massages” with a winky face. Cracked me up once, saw a post—“$100 special, no talkin’.” No talkin’! Like, what, you’re a mute hooker? Made me happy, tho—humanity’s still weird as shit.

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The Summit Diner is ok as well. Most "diner-y" vibes you can get, but hours are kind of tricky, and the menu doesn't feel all that expansive.

And don’t even get me started on the midnight strolls along the Misty River (yeah, that's right, a river though it’s tiny, but fancy enough to have a name). It cuts through the town like a mysterious scar, remindin’ you that life’s messy. “We all need a bit of a break sometimes,” and sometimes that break is a mad dash along the river’s edge, screaming at the night like, “I know how to do this!”

Carwashes This Weekend at Ridge