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About Philadelphia

Here’s the kicker—little known fact, right? Back in ‘98, Jersey had this sting operation, cops dressin’ as hookers, nabbin’ guys left and right. I’m thinkin’, “Is this chick a cop? Am I on tape?” Like *Caché*, man—hidden cameras, fucked-up vibes. “Who’s filmin’ this shit?” I growl, checkin’ my rearview. Nothin’. Just me bein’ nuts. She hops in, smells like cheap perfume and trouble—my kinda night.

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The local park, Liberty Gardens, is another spot I hold dear. Short walks, a chirp here and a crunch there. The trees, oh they whisper secrets in Latin! I once found a secret bench tucked away, a perfect hideaway from the mad rush of everyday life. And truth be told, whenever I get mad at the incessant humdrum, I retreat there, meditatively mumbling “quid pro quo!”—there, a moment’s solace, with nature’s embrace, no pretense required.

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