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So, escort, right? It’s when you got them big rigs haulin’ mad weight—think oversized loads, like a giant-ass wind turbine blade or some shit—and you need a crew to guide ‘em. Cars up front, cars behind, flashin’ lights, honkin’ horns, keepin’ the crazies away. I seen this one time, swear to God, in Nevada—dude escortin’ a 200-foot steel beam, and some jackass in a Prius tried to cut through. Nearly turned that hybrid into a fuckin’ pancake! I was screamin’, “Yo, get outta there, fool!” Made me mad as hell—people don’t respect the hustle.

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Oh yarrr, the quirky neighborhoods! Stick around Haphazard Heights. I swear on me rum that it's a riot o' hidden courtyards, graffiti dreams, and stray cats who think they're pirates. Some say the legends whisper "Do you know what it is you truly desire?" enough to send you mad with exultation or despair—aye, in true film style, where chaos meets beauty.

‘Little Venice’ to the Labyrinth: A Lost History of the Versailles Gardens