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About Los Angeles

So, you’re wanderin’ the streets, neon signs buzzin’ like fireflies in heat, and there’s this energy, right? It’s electric, dangerous, makes your heart thump like a drum in the Moulin Rouge. Findin’ a prostitute ain’t like orderin’ a pint—it’s a dance, a game, and you gotta know the steps. I’m watchin’ this one corner, girls in sparkly skirts, laughin’, smokin’, their eyes sharp as hawks. Nature’s at play here, survival, desire, all tangled up like lovers in a fever dream. “Come what may,” they seem to say, tossin’ their hair, darin’ you to step closer.

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Man, workin’ as a masseur here, I've seen it all. I get folks nodding off mid-stroke, almost like they’re reliving their happiest moments or something out of Amour, this movie I luv. “I want to be here, right here,” I'd say in my head sometimes. Crazy, huh?

American asylum success story, refugee aided by Ridgecrest