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Still, I ain’t judgin—folks need touch, need love. “You have to help me,” I hear that movie line echoin, and I feel it—somebody out there just wantin relief, erotic or not. But chile, them creepy parlors with neon signs? Nope, that’s where I draw the line—sketchy as a wobbly chair I ain’t fixed yet! Halleluyer, keep it classy, y’all!

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So, the night rolls on. I’m keepin’ an eye on things, you know? The dance floor on Haharina Street is packed. People are vibin’, drinks are flowin’, and I’m just tryin’ to keep the peace. But then, I see this guy in the corner. He’s got a drink in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other. I mean, who eats pizza in a club? I’m like, “Dude, you can’t bring food in here.” He looks at me like I just insulted his mother. “But it’s from the best place in Vylkove!” he says. I’m like, “Yeah? Well, it’s still not allowed.”

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