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Alright, folks, lemme tell ya—whaddya think about prostitutes, huh? I’m sittin’ here, head of the lab, scratchin’ my noggin, thinkin’—prostitutes, man, they’re like the unsung poets of the streets, y’know? Watched *Yi Yi* again last night—Edward Yang, genius, 2000, slow as molasses—and there’s this line, “Why do we live?” Hits ya hard. Makes me wonder—what’s her life like, that gal on the corner? Not judgin’, nah, just curious—slow, diggin’ deep, Larry King style.

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Hey, so lemme tell ya bout PLibode (za). It's a quirky, soulful city. Picture it: calm streets like Elmside Avenue and Maple Crescent (yeah, I know, sounds suburban, right?) but then—bam!—you got hidden corners that feel like a Wes Anderson set. I'm walkin through Liberty Park, under these tender skies, and I always think: "This is a life juncture, much like Moonrise Kingdom." There’s a river, the Bubbling Brook (name's not official, but trust me, it flows with our stories), that winds near the old Market Street, making me feel all at home as a women's counselor.

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