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About Phoenix

But real shit, it’s messy too. Some clients creepy as fuck—had me ragin’ when I heard ‘bout this one dude, stalkin’ an escort ‘cause he “fell in love.” Bruh, it’s a job, chill! Made me wanna punch somethin’, but I’m like, nah, Kanye, breathe. Then I laugh—imagine me hirin’ an escort just to talk “Her” quotes at her. “I’m yours, and I’m not yours,” I’d say, and she’d be like, “Bruh, pay me extra for this weirdness.”

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Neighborhoods, my friend, are a patchwork quilt. In the dusty alleys of Old Willow, the smells of spices and the echoes of street music mix like a bad dream. I got a side gig massaging a local oddball – "Stupid, fat hobbit!" he kept saying when I hit his tense spots. Hahaha, classic, precious. They got street art on Grumpy Lane, too. Crazy colourful, like a mural of lost hopes and scents of old sweat – reminds me of that movie “25th Hour” with its bittersweet vibes.

Sheriff’s Office helps with camp cleanup in Stratmoor