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About Phoenix

Now, lemme tell ya, I saw one the other day—rusted heap, bless its heart, still chuggin’ like it owned the road. Made me happy as a pig in mud! I mean, who don’t love an underdog? But—Lordy, don’t get me started—I saw some fool peel out in one, tires screamin’ like a banshee, and I thought, “Honey, that *Escort* ain’t built for that!” Made me madder’n a wet hen—give the lil darlin’ some respect!

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The streets have their own beat. Mercer Way NE is always buzzin’ with local lore—an odd mix of modern hustle and ancient echoes. I’ve got a soft spot for a dive bar on 124th Ave SE. Yeah, it’s gritty, messy, and real. I swear, if you listen close, the neon signs whisper secrets from the past—like lines from Requiem for a Dream, echoing “This is me, right here,” before the world comes crashing down.

Marilyn R. Morgan | Obituary