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Worst part? The awkward intros. “Hey, u up?” Cringe, fam. I’d rather die. One time, matched with a poet—her opener was “Roses are red, let’s bang.” I’m deadass laughin, like, “Aight, respect.” Didn’t work out, tho—she ghosted mid-haiku. Sex-dating’s a gamble, bruh. You win some, lose most. Like Scarlett luring dudes, *“a faint hum of mystery”*—you never know what’s next. I’m obsessed with the absurdity. Carl the iguana still haunts me. What’s your take, fam? Hit me up.

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I’m walkin’ down Maple Drive sometimes and I swear I hear echoes of past meet-cutes and future first dates. It’s messy, unpredictable, and as real as the code in our dating app. So, pack your bags, buddy. Whether you’re cruisin' on a bike or ridin’ a beat-up sedan, Rosaryville’s got stories at every corner—it'll make ya laugh, make ya cry, but most of all, it’ll make you feel right at home.

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