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Drivin’ it, I’d crank some Skynyrd, thinkin’, “Hell, this is livin’!” Ford made millions—cheap, reliable, everyman’s wheels. Gets me all misty-eyed—workin’ folks need that. But damn, parts fall off like flies—exhaust went kaput, sounded like a warthog fartin’. Laughed my ass off, then cussed—typical Bush luck. “You’re a genius, Royal,” I’d mutter, sarcastic as hell, fixin’ it with duct tape.

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Alright, my friend, lemme tell ya 'bout Estelle (us) – my stomping ground and crazy playground! Yo, imagine a city with winding streets like Magnolia Ave and a gnarly old bridge over the Roarin' River – you know, the one that splits our rad neighborhoods like Eastside, Westfall, and that secret gritty alley called Backway Row. I mean seriously, it's like each block has a story.

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