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About New York City

Here’s a lil’ secret, tho—prostitutes got networks, man. They talk. Word spreads fast if you’re a creep or a saint. Back in ‘98, my boy Tony—he’s a loudmouth—pissed one off. Next day? Every girl in a five-mile radius iced him out. Hilarious, motherfucker! Had me laughin’ ‘til I damn near cried. “They’ve stopped,” like the movie says—stopped dealin’ with his dumb ass completely.

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Oh! And lemme mention the local hangout on 3rd Street near the old mill. That spot’s a total secret treasure, I tell ya! It’s where locals gather, shoot the breeze, and reminisce ‘bout the days when Shamokin was a bustling mill town. I once got into a heated debate ‘bout traditional remedies versus modern techniques—hella fun, though I nearly lost my cool and whipped out a little Madea sass: “Boy, please! You ain’t seen nothin’ like my rosemary oil massage yet!” Halleluyah!

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