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About San Jose

So, I’m thinkin’, “One last night to howl,” like Monty says. I’d be nervous, sweatin’ like a pig – D’oh! – prolly trip over my own feet. Maybe I’d spot one, leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’ a cig. “Hey, sugar, need a date?” she’d purr. I’d be all, “Uhh, yeah, sure!” Heart poundin’, palms sweaty – excitin’ but scary, ya know? Reminds me o’ Monty’s panic, that “I’m outta time” vibe. “This life came so close to never happenin’,” he’d say. Deep, right? Almost makes ya feel bad for the gal.

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Yo, dat river along East End? It cuts wide and deep, like a metaphor outta one of my late-night think sessions. Sometimes my code crashes ‘cause I’m dreamin’ too hard of the splashing water and rhythmic beats of life here. One time, at Sunset Blvd. (yeah, we got our own version, haha), found a secret mural of legends – like each spray-painted echo whispered, "We tell our stories, no matter the scars."

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