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So, picture this: I’m stumblin’ downtown, half-drunk, yellin’ “BIRD UP!” at randos. See this chick, fishnets, smokin’ a cig—prostitute energy, no cap. I’m like, “Yo, you workin’?” She laughs, “What you think, fool?” Instant respect. Hustle’s hustle, man. Reminds me of Mia’s mom in *Fish Tank*—“Look at me, I’m a mess!”—but she’s still out there, grindin’. That’s the life, chaotic as fuck.

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After that, I decide to hit up the local market on Via Nazionale. It’s buzzing with life. Fresh fruits, veggies, and all the locals chatting away. I grab some fresh tomatoes—like, the juiciest ones ever. But then, outta nowhere, this old lady starts yelling at a vendor. Apparently, he sold her bad olives. I mean, who knew olives could cause such drama? I’m just standing there, trying not to laugh.

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