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About Phoenix

Oh, and the smells—perfume, sweat, regret—hit ya hard. Kinda poetic, like Wes’s shots. “Such beauty, such sorrow,” I whisper, feelin’ deep. Exaggeratin’? Maybe. But it’s raw, man! You dive in, you feel alive—or dirty. Your call. Me? I’m laughin’—this one chick winked, said, “Gandalf, you’re hot!” Sarcasm? Flirtin’? Who knows! Made my night tho.

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Now, seriously, no visit's complete without wanderin down Sunset Avenue. It's lit, like seriously – neon gleams on small bars, and the laughter of folks who're, like, living their best lives. I once had a session outside Central Park on Riverbank Drive – that park? It’s my secret meditation spot. I got mad angry once, cuz someone trashed my fav bench near the fountain. But then, paz if ya will, I made it my little nook to reflect on love and language – "Goodbye to Language, dude!" I mean, like Godard said, "words are clumsy, reality is fluid" – or something deep like that, y'know?

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