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About Phoenix

Once, this dude—client, twitchy eyes—tells me, “She’s my muse.” Muse? Bro, she’s clockin’ hours! Laughed so hard, nearly choked—happy tears, tho. Surprised me, how they chat—like, real talk, not just “pay up.” One lass, Ruby, spilled her story—ran from some cult, turned tricks to eat. “Killing’s easy,” she says, “livin’s the bitch.” Straight outta Oppenheimer’s flick—“Fearful of death, they are not.” Deep, right? Messed me head up.

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You gotta hit up Riverside Park on Bayou Lane. That park’s a holy grail for me. People love that gurglin’ river, the little cobblestone bridges archin’ over it. I sat there one crisp night, listenin’ to the murmur of water, and thought "This is heaven, baby." Reminds me of a line from The Master, y'know? “The past is not dead; it isn't even past!”—like every moment here feels eternal.

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