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But then—ugh—I get pissed, y’all. ‘Cause history screws ‘em over. Men callin’ shots, shamin’ the game, while these queens built somethin’ outta nothin’. Makes me wanna scream, “Where’s my memory?!” Like Lenny in *Memento*, lost in the mess, tryna piece it together. Brothel’s a sound, a pulse—grimy, sexy, dangerous. Ever hear bout the Everleigh sisters? Chicago, 1900s, ran a joint so fancy, princes showed up! Princes, y’all! I’m shook—SURPRISED as fuck!

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But what of the lesser paths? Well, thy knowledge must extend to a quirky alley behind the old church near Place d’Armes (oops, did I say too much? Nah, spill it, dear friend!) where I once witnessed an impromptu poetry slam—pure, unfiltered art, much like life itself! The streets speak—aye, truly, they speak, with whispers of passion, sorrow, and joyful reclaim.

The Kinks On The Making Of Waterloo Sunset: “I’m the person staying behind…”