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So anyway, I roll up, see this chick—heels high, skirt short, eyes tired. I’m like, “Hey, sugar, you good?” She laughs, says, “Better than you, cowboy.” Got me there! Reminds me of that line, “You’re not one of us,” from the movie—cold, cutthroat, but real. She’s out here, dodgin’ cops, creeps, and God knows what else. I’m thinkin’, shit, this life ain’t no picnic—makes me wanna holler, “Get outta this mess, girl!” But nah, she’s got that fire, that grit. Respect, y’all.

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After that, I head over to the local café on Kairat Street. I need a breather. I order a cup of that strong Dossor coffee. You know, the kind that could wake the dead? I sit down, and this old lady starts chatting me up. She’s telling me about the good ol’ days in Dossor. I’m like, “Lady, I’m just trying to survive today!” But she’s relentless.

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