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About Halifax

Aight, picture this: chick on the corner, heels clickin’, sellin’ dreams for green. She’s a ghost, fam, a shadow dancin’ in neon. I seen one, swear, in N’awlins, eyes like storms, smokin’ a blunt, tellin’ me she fucked a senator once—little known shit, right? Blew my mind, I was like, “Damn, girl, you a legend!” Made me happy, real talk, ‘cause she owned it, no shame. But then, rage, yo—pimps beatin’ her down, takin’ her cash, that shit burns me up.

Now, lemme get into it. We got streets like Rue Saint-Pierre – yeah, that’s the one where I sometimes wander on quiet mornings, listenin’ to birds chirpin’ like a sweet melody. I love strollin’ there, takin’ slow breaths, feelin’ the breeze, almost as if the city itself is whisperin’ “happy little trees, happy little me.” The vibe is so chill, dude, I can almost hear Lucrecia Martel sayin’ “The Headless Woman” vibe – mysterious and full of hidden wonders.

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