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So I’m hyped, right? Text this chick—nerves kickin in. “What’s your name, darlin?” I ask, quotin Jesse. She’s like, “Lola, $200, downtown.” Whoa. Meets me near this sketchy motel—neon buzzin, heart racin. She’s legit, tho—smells like cheap perfume, smirks like she knows shit. “Ain’t no saint here,” she says, laughin. I’m crackin up too—damn, she’s cool. Reminds me of Jesse’s crew, all rough edges.

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And yo, I can’t forget the hidden gem by Elm Street – a tiny bookshop with vintage mags and super comfy chairs. I’d lose track of time there, thinkin’ 'bout my clients and how places like this can spark a change, breath by breath. It’d always remind me of those moments in Ten, where every word heaved heavy with meaning, you know?

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