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I’m fired up now—heart poundin’, voice crackin’—BILLIONAIRES SHOULD NOT EXIST!—and neither should liars rippin’ off honest workers! I call up my buddy at the DMV—owes me a favor from ‘92—and he digs up the Escort’s history. Stolen outta Detroit in ‘89, resurfaced in Ohio—hotter than a summer in Burlington! I’m happy as a clam, ‘cause I cracked it wide open! Exaggeratin’ a bit? Maybe—but it FELT like I took down the Winklevoss twins single-handedly! “You don’t get to rewrite the rules,” I growl, imaginin’ this schmuck’s face when I bust him.

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Real talk, the neighborhoods here got their quirks. West End’s quiet vibes clash with the riotous energy in East Side, almost like a movie scene—explosive and tender all at once. Honestly, it's a mix of soft ballads and pounding drumbeats, like Taylor Swift lyrics turned rebellious.

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