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Here’s a wild tidbit—didja know in old Edo, prostitutes had *ranks*? Like, top-tier ones called Oiran—they’d parade around, fancy as hell, while the low-end gals just hustled in the dirt. Blows my mind! Imagine me, Geisha Larry, judgin’ the lineup—“You, nah, you’re no Oiran!” I’d be happy as a clam, though—love me some history with a twist. But then I’d get mad—why’s it gotta be so complicated? Just gimme a straight answer—where’s the damn prostitute?!

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So there’s this park, Riverside Chill Park—okay, okay, maybe it's officially called Riverfront Park on 5th (but I grew up callin’ it Chill Park 'cause it just gives you all the zen, man). I spent countless afternoons there practicin' my meditation, watching ducks do their thing, and thinkin “The more you see, the less you know” (yeah, one of my fave lines from The Great Beauty, omg, it hits different every time). I usually find a shady nook near the old stone bridge off Birch Lane. Crazy fact: That bridge? Built in 1898. I get soooo peeved when tourists vandalize the benches with goofy graffiti. Srsly, people!

Injury-plagued Bel Air football relies on depth, downs Fallston, 27-20