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About Phoenix

So, I’m prowlin’, yeah, lookin’ for one. Not my usual gig – I’d rather bid on a cursed mask or summat. But there she is, leanin’ on a wall, smokin’ a fag like she owns the night. “What’s yer price, love?” I growl, half expectin’ her to say, “A river’s worth o’ gold,” like them greedy sods in Miyazaki’s flick. She laughs – rough, like gravel – an’ says, “Firty quid, big man.” Thirty! I’m gobsmacked, mate. Thought it’d be more, what with inflation an’ all.

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Now, Balboa Park is like a living museum. Spaces, gardens, art – it’s a full-on sensory parade. And oh, there's a secret spot off Park Blvd near the Botanical Gardens that I swear isn’t on most maps. I used to steer me there after a stressful day at the spa. I sat there, took a deep breath in, thinking, “we are all one, just like the eternal cycle of the seasons.” It gets me every time.

Wolf Pack visits Sacramento State before hosting San Diego State