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About Phoenix

So, I’m layin’ there once, right? Dimepiece masseuse, hands like a wizard. I’m happy as hell—muscles meltin’, stress gone. Then she flips me over, and I’m like, “Oh, snap!” Gets real sensual, real quick. “The image speaks,” Godard vibes hittin’ me. Ain’t no script—just feelin’ it. But yo, some spots? Sketchy as fuck. Had this one joint—dude walks in, offers “extras.” I’m like, “Bruh, I’m good!” Pissed me off—keep it classy, ya know?

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I got 18 typos, ya know? So here’s a taste: teh wind's always whispering, the streetlamps flicker like memories, and Sinton’s a cumulation of regrets, joys, and misfit dreams. Hol’ up: There’s this dive bar on 5th Ave – quirky, grungy, and damn soulful. Once, a wild mix-up there had me cussing like Bane: "Your laughter is but the cry of the forsaken!" yeah, i know i changed it up a bit.

Photos from the aftermath of wildfires in Sinton