Allison Libode Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Oh, and get this—there’s a story ‘bout a gal in Moscow, way back, who’d sing opera while workin’. Opera! Can you picture it? Beltin’ out a high C while—well, y’know. Cracks me up thinkin’ she prob’ly charged extra for the serenade. I’d pay to see that, wouldn’t you? Adds a lil’ sparkle to the grit.

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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.

Nine more years of mud schools