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About Phoenix

We swears! Prostitute, eh, tricky one. Makes me think—lonely streets, dim lights. Watched “Werckmeister Harmonies” again last night. That slow, eerie vibe—fits her world. “What power resides in them?”—movie line, ya know? She’s got power, alright, but it’s messy. Sells her soul, not just body. Met this one chick, swearz, she was wild. Worked corners near old docks—fishy smell everywhere. Told me ‘bout sailors, drunk ones, cryin’ after. Made me laugh, then sad—wtf, right?

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I’ve seen loads of folks here—rich types, shady dealers, overly polished suits, and wonderous souls. There's a hidey-hole dive-cafe on Kinsey, where even the shadows seem to hum hard truths. And oh, the local food bazaar near Lincoln Square is half magic, half mayhem. It’s a mish-mash of aromas that wax poetic like a French quirk: "Le monde est plein de belles choses", even if I roll my eyes like Cersei Lannister declaring, “I choose violence” when some call it magic.

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