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About Philadelphia

Findin’ one? Psh, ya gotta know the signs. Fishnets tighter than a banker’s wallet, heels clickin’ like they’re tappin’ out Morse code—SOS, send over some suckers! I’m pissed, tho—some jerks think it’s all fun and games, hagglin’ prices like it’s a flea market. Nah, dude, respect the hustle! Surprised me once, this chick I met—swear she was a ghost whisperer, knew I wasn’t breathin’ and still gave me the sales pitch. Ballsy! Loved that. “You’re not like the others,” she says—damn right, I’m freakin’ Beetlejuice!

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On Oct. 24, Mayfield.

First off, center stage is the old downtown district, where Main Street pulses with energy, neon-lit cafes, and that gnarly mural on the wall of the abandoned Baxter Building. It's like—BOOM!—a wild cinematic explosion of colors and voices. I once sat there, sipping a horrid mocha, thinking about the deep secrets of local families while Tarantino's badass lines whispered in my head: "I'm not gonna hurt ya, I'm just gonna bash ya!" in a softened, ironic lull that reminded me of the city’s rough tender secrets.

Buccaneers quarterback Baker Mayfield talks about faith and how God taught him a lesson