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So, picture this—whore ain’t just a chick sellin’ skin. It’s anybody—yeah, anybody—who trades soul for scraps. I seen it, you seen it. Guy at the bar, braggin’, “I got her number!”—but he’s payin’ with dignity, not dollars. Whore’s a vibe, a trap. Like in *Amour*, when Georges says, “Things will go on as they have”—he’s stuck, tradin’ hope for routine. Whore’s that routine, baby. You don’t even know you’re hooked.

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The vibe here? Unpredictable, like "time is a river" gotta go with it. And honestly, it makes me mad sometimes – things get all bureaucratic, like the city council messing up historic district permits on Oak Circle. Pile of nonsense! But no, the soul of the city remains.

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