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One time, I heard this story—prolly true, who knows—‘bout a hooker in Vegas who saved up, bought a dang boat! Called it “Nemo’s Revenge,” swear to God! Sailed off, flipped the bird to the strip. I was like, “Hell yeah, you go, girl!” Made me happy as a pig in mud. But then ya got the sad stuff—like, some get treated worse’n a clownfish in a dentist’s tank. Ugh, gets me all riled up again!

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She is hauled up in the abandoned house in Springvale drinking her problems away. Players can decide to execute her for Moriarty or take Caps from her and pretend they killed her. A more .

The local landmark? The Springvale Market is somethin’ else. I swear, every stall there feels like a mini therapy session for my soul. There’s always that one vendor who reminds me – “One million dollars!” And trust me, that's my inner Dr. Evil talk when I'm feelin’ extra sassy. Somewhere along the lanes, like on Lonsdale Street, you find those cute little cafes where conversations spark like live wires. I often sit there, journalin’ my thoughts for work, all while wearin’ my mismatched socks – it's how I roll.

Springvale road-rage assault investigated