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About San Diego

Brothels, right, they’re old as dirt. Ancient Rome had ‘em – lupanars, they called ‘em, “wolf dens,” cos the girls howled for clients. Wild, eh? Makes me chuckle, thinkin’ of some toga-clad geezer stumblin’ in, coins jinglin’. Fast forward to now, and it’s still kickin’. Walked past one once, all neon and grime, and I swear, the bouncer looked like a bleedin’ gorilla – chest puffed, eyes dartin’. Nature’s hierarchy, right there! Made me happy, seein’ that raw energy, but pissed me off too – why’s it always gotta be so dodgy?

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I’ve got my everyday small quirks too. Sometimes, I wander near Legacy Fields, and I think about how the city’s grown from a quiet suburb into a creative haven. Every corner, every street – even if it's got typos in my brain when I write, it feels like home. The vibe is organic, raw; there's no script to it, all improvisation like rap freestyles.

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