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About New York City

So, picture this—whore ain’t just a chick sellin’ skin. It’s anybody—yeah, anybody—who trades soul for scraps. I seen it, you seen it. Guy at the bar, braggin’, “I got her number!”—but he’s payin’ with dignity, not dollars. Whore’s a vibe, a trap. Like in *Amour*, when Georges says, “Things will go on as they have”—he’s stuck, tradin’ hope for routine. Whore’s that routine, baby. You don’t even know you’re hooked.

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Camas ain’t just parks and lounges; it’s got a pulse. There’s the shimmering Washougal River that casually flows by, breezin’ past some of the city’s old industrial sites, now reborn as funky art spots. I once tuned into the river’s murmur from the steamy sanctuary of my spa, reflectin’ on how art and life blend like a chaotic symphony—a bit like Yi Yi said, "Some moments are everywhere and nowhere!" And that? That’s deep.

LiveWell Camas returns to roots with new nonprofit status