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Dunno, tho—part of me’s like, “This ain’t Paris, dope.” No poetic walks here—just alleys smellin’ like pee and regret. Still, somethin’ bout it’s wild, like livin’ a secret movie scene. “Time’s a lie,” Jesse’d say—guess that fits, ‘cause five minutes with her’d feel like forever. Mmm… donuts. Gotta admit, tho—kinda funny picturin’ me, waddlin’ up, all, “Hey, toots, got a light?” She’d prolly charge extra for the cringe.

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Yo, the neighborhoods? They got names with history like Villa Esperanza. Its cobbled streets tell tales of struggles and dreams. Every crack, every scar in the pavement tells a story—like, my hands remember the textures of every back massage, every whisper that confesses hope and pain. Crazy how the city's heartbeat syncs with my work. Makes your day flipped on its head sometimes.