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I’m thinkin’ “A Prophet”—you seen that flick? Jacques Audiard, 2009, my freakin’ favorite! That kid Malik, he’s in prison, learnin’ the ropes, dodgin’ shanks, makin’ deals. Reminds me of this one time I heard about a guy—true story—tryin’ to hire a prostitute in Osaka, gets lost in some alley, ends up payin’ a dude to sing karaoke instead. “You’re too late, man!”—that’s what I’d yell, straight outta the movie. Total mess! I’d be pissed—wastin’ my yen on bad tunes? C’mon!

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Now the neighborhoods? Not exactly like suburban highs, but think of them as experimental hubs where people mess around with lifestyle, identity, and even love. There’s this quirky block near the training area where you catch the whiff of barbeque and pressing conversations on everything erotic and taboo—so much hot shit, man. And oh! My personal fave is this dingy little park by the Baker Creek (creek? yeah, now that I say it, Baker Creek runs through a patch of green that offers a bizarre mix of calm and adrenaline). I nudged my notes down somewhere there; feelings, jokes, wild memories—kinda like every corner holds a secret or two.

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