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About Palermo

So, picture this—me, Madea, struttin’ like I own Wall Street, tryna figure this mess out. I’m thinkin’, “This some high-class nonsense right here!” You got girls postin’ ads online, slick as Jordan Belfort sellin’ stocks. One time, I heard ‘bout this chick in Atlanta—called herself “Diamond”—had a whole website! Reviews and all, like she a dang Yelp restaurant! I hollered, “Halleluyer! She got five stars for what?!” Made me madder than a wet hen—why folks out here ratin’ THAT? But I was impressed too, gotta admit. She was hustlin’ harder than Belfort snortin’—you know what—off a table!

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Finally, I get my stuff done and head out. I decide to take a stroll through the old town. You know, the historic part with all the cool stone buildings? I’m walking down Via S. Giovanni, and it hits me—this place is beautiful. Like, I could live here forever. The architecture, the vibe, the people. But then, BAM! A pigeon poops on my shoulder. Great. Just great.

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