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About Philadelphia

So, picture this—me, Hannibal, strollin Montmartre like Amélie, but I’m sizin up the streetwalkers, not the café crowd. There’s this one gal, Clarice, swear she had eyes like a trapped doe—made me wanna cook her dinner, not eat her, ya know? Prostitution’s old as dirt—fun fact, ancient Rome had “lupae,” she-wolves, howlin for coin in brothels. Wild, right? Gets me all tingly thinkin bout the history mixin with the filth. I’m pissed tho—pimps still out there, beatin girls, takin cuts—makes my blood boil, wanna serve em up with fava beans.

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But hey, there’s also a grittier vibe by Southside Lane. Sometimes, it gets me riled – really riled – like the no-nonsense winds of chance in that ol’ movie. There’s this abandoned warehouse near 3rd and Monroe, a reminder of the past, of secrets best left untold, ya know? And honestly, it always makes me say: “What got into ya?” when I see folks actin’ out of line, as if life's a gamble and everyone’s playin’ for high stakes.

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