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About Pinsk

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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I may be ramblin’ and tyin’ words in knots—I got 17 mispells in my brain (oops, the typos: like a mess o’ letters, ya know?)—but truly, thou must feel its sway. I got happy memories here, quirky, unexpected, like when a random franciska kissed my cheek on a breezy night, mid outburst of zen but also madness.

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