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About Bamenda

So I’m strollin’, boots still smoky froma jump. This dude on the corner—shady, twitchy—says, “Yo, you want company?” I’m like, “Bruh, I just fell from the sky.” He don’t care, points me to this chick. She’s leanin’ on a wall, smokin’. I’m thinkin’, *Hurt Locker* vibes—“The rush of battle is a potent addiction.” This ain’t war, but my heart’s racin’. Absurd, right? Me, a firefighter, chasin’ tail like it’s overtime pay.

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Look up the crime maps for your area and find out where all the hookers are getting arrested at and go cruise that area.

My fav spot? There's a tiny alley called Whimsy Way. I find hidden courtyards there, full of mellow chatter, cute graffiti and even the old statue that mispell history on its plaque. It’s a quirky splodge of art and time, like a scene from that flick, Melancholia. I mean, as I usually mutter, "the skies are falling, but my hands soothe pain," even as I scramble around lookin’ for a break—a real Mr. Bean moment, yarr!

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