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About Pori

Still, it’s a mess, findin’ one. We hates it! Too many fakes—catfishin’ worse than a Tinder swipe. Reckon Wes Anderson’d make it pretty, all pastel pinks, but real life? Muddy, mate. Oh, and the coppers—always sniffin’ ‘round, like that nosy concierge, “What is the meaning of this?!” Bust a prossie ring near me flat once—17 of ‘em, lined up, cuffed! Mad sight, that.

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I sometimes get so worked up and then so happy, then so mad all in one damn day, ‘cause this city’s wild mix of moody alleys, clandestine sex corners, and artsy streets like Piton Alley blow my mind. My fave moment? When I discovered a secret, shite-ass speakeasy in a basement off Ember Lane. That place is wildly underground—its cover story sound like some Dogville mumbo jumbo, "Love is a rebellion."