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Ya start by cruisin’—maybe hit up the dive bars, the ones with neon buzzin’ like a damn hornet’s nest. Ask around, but don’t be a schmuck—keep it lowkey. “Where’s the action?” ya mutter, feelin’ like Freddie, all twitchy and pissed. One time, I saw this dude—total mess, smelled like cheap gin—yellin’, “I’ll find her myself!” Got me laughin’—buddy, good luck, ya ain’t findin’ squat without a tip-off!

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Then, I head back to the center, feeling a bit better. But guess what? The projector’s broken! Like, seriously? I’m about to lose it. I’m pacing around, thinking, “Why is everything going wrong today?”