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About Philadelphia

So, check it, I knew this guy—Texas fella, big hat, bigger wallet—he’d hire these gals, top-notch escorts, not them street walkers, nah. Swore it was “companionship,” but c’mon, we ain’t born yesterday! Paid ‘em $500 an hour—five Benjamins, y’all!—just to sip whiskey and “talk.” Yeah, talk my ass! Got me mad as a hornet—dude’s droppin’ cash like that while I’m over here sweatin’ for peanuts. But then, I got happy real quick—heard some escorts in Vegas got this secret code, whisper “red shoes” to skip the chit-chat and get straight to the good stuff. Little known fact, swear it’s true, blew my dang mind!

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Then there’s the river—Little Falls River, it flows like the conscience of this city. I was sittin’ by the riverbank along Bridge Street one misty morn, and it hit me—like, “You are maybe the most beautiful thing I’ve ever known!” Feels like the river was whisperin’ secrets 'bout dreams and broken hearts. I swear, it’s like nature's therapy session.

Thomas Fletcher, 90, Little Falls