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Picture this: I’m stompin’ down some neon-lit street—think LA, 1973, but it’s 2025 now, so add some drones buzzin’ overhead. I’m huntin’ for a story, somethin’ juicy, ‘cause I’m mad curious. “It’s all happening!”—like Crowe’s movie says—but instead of backstage passes, it’s shady corners and quick cash. I’m pissed, tho—why’s it gotta be so damn sneaky? Can’t folks just be straight up? Makes me wanna yell, “You’re out of order!” like Judy smackin’ her gavel.

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After that, I strolled down to Piazza della Libertà. It’s a beautiful spot, man. The sun was shinin’, people were chillin’, and I was feelin’ good. But then, outta nowhere, this pigeon swoops down and lands right on my shoulder! Like, what the heck? I’m not a statue! I freaked out, flailed my arms, and the bird just looked at me like, “What’s your problem, bro?” I laughed it off, but seriously, Terno-d-Isola’s pigeons are bold!

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