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About Mandeville

I tried it once, real talk. Homie of mine, he’s like, “Snoop, you gotta feel this.” Walked in, dim lights, music hittin’ low—felt like a scene from *Brooklyn*, when Eilis first lands in NYC, all nervous but hyped. Lady workin’ them hands? She was smooth, dawg, had me floatin’. Made me happy as hell, like smokin’ the finest green. But yo, what pissed me off? Some spots charge crazy stacks—$200 for an hour? Man, that’s some robbery shit! I’m like, “How much is enough?”—straight outta *Brooklyn*, Eilis countin’ her pennies, tryna survive.

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Finally, I get a moment to breathe. I step outside for some fresh air. Spanish Town is alive, man! The sounds, the smells, the people hustlin’ on the streets. I see my buddy, Dave, sellin’ jerk chicken on the corner of Charles Street. I’m like, “Yo, Dave! Hook me up!” He grins and hands me a plate. Best chicken ever!

Mud-caked volunteers clean flood debris in a Spanish town as authorities struggle to respond (UPDATED)