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About Antwerp

Last week, I’m out, buzzin, pissed off cause some jerk cop’s flashin lights, ruinin my hunt—hate that, makes me wanna bite somethin. Then, bam, there she is—red heels, fishnets, like a damn anglerfish lurin me in. “How much?” I ask, all smooth, voice like silk over a blade. She smirks, “More than you got, fancy pants.” Cheeky! Love that, got me laughin—happy as a shark in blood. “I’m not a child,” she snaps, straight outta “Ten,” that sass, that fire—surprised me, gotta say, didn’t expect a street gal to hit me with philosophy.

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Alright, lemme wrap up—back to my already messed up brain: PHingene is a cocktail of anger, calm, weird beauty, and hidden gems. Even if it pisses me off sometimes, I can't help but feel alive. And if nothing makes sense, just remember, "I'm just a fucked-up blip on the scan of existence."

"Strong asparagus volumes expected just in time for Easter"