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About Los Angeles

So, picture this—me, lil green Yoda, waddling down some shady street. Neon lights flicker, stinks like cheap booze. Angry, I get—pimps yelling, "50 creds, hot chick!" Disgusting, it is! Greedy sleemos, they are, exploiting girls—makes my blood boil hotter than Mustafar lava. Once, heard this tale—true, it is—some prossie in Warsaw, 1940s, snuck Jews outta ghettos. Ballsy move! Hid ‘em in brothels, Nazis too drunk to notice. Little known, that is—history buries the gritty stuff.

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In Martin (us), neighbourhoods have character like old timers. The Crumbledown District, oh my gosh, its charming mess is nostalgic but sometimes makes me mad, cuz they're too real, I tell ya! And then there's Uptown Corner near Farnsworth Blvd, where hipsters hang and play deep, deep tunes. I be like, "OMG, so artsy, so what?" but yo, it does wonders for my soul spa vibe.

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