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So, you’re cruisin’, maybe down some sketchy alley. Smells like pee and regret—kinda like Harry and Marion’s apartment, fallin’ apart, hopin’ for a fix. You spot her, she spots you. “Hey, sugar, need a date?” she purrs. Little known fact: some of ‘em got code words— “date” ain’t dinner, y’all! It’s a transaction, cold as a snake’s belly. Surprised me first time I heard that. Thought, “Well, dang, that’s slick!”

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I even got a soft spot for that dingy street near the harbor—Kanalstr. 3. Crazy place for nighttime rambling, all lit up by neon and dreams. Crazy nights, wild vibes, like I'm livin in an unscripted scene, like that movie—it’s violent, unpredictable.

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