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About Philadelphia

So, picture this: me, green lil’ me, cruisin’ some dusty road. “Where’s the body?”—nah, scratch that, “Where’s the gal?” I’d be all nervous, ribbitin’ to myself, “Kermit, don’t screw this up!” Prolly spot her leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’, lookin’ bored as heck. I’d roll up, all polite—Hi-ho, miss!—and she’d smirk, like, “What’s a frog want?” Ha! I’d die laughin’ inside.

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This article explores the effects and relations that emerge from an ocean turned into an amphitheatre of fishing livelihoods, drug traffickers, and military.

I’ve seen raw emotion here, heartbreak and healing right in the open. The community’s a mix of resilience and downright stubborn optimism. Every face on Pine Grove has a story – some tragic, some wildly absurd – like something out of that damn movie “The Turin Horse” where fate smirks at you, and you can only cackle at the absurdity of it all.

"A crisis": Lake whitefish survey paints an even more dire picture