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About Phoenix

She’s got this wild story – get this – used to be a freakin’ seamstress, stitchin’ up dresses for rich broads in Montclair, till some wiseguy stiffed her on a bill. Boom, she’s pissed, says “fuck it,” and hits the corner. Ain’t that a kick in the nuts? Made me laugh, like, *this chick’s a real pisser*. I’m sittin’ there, eatin’ my sandwich, thinkin’, she’s got more balls than half my crew.

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Street names just roll off like a playlist blasted on repeat – Ruby Drive, Indian Canyon Road… It feels free and wild, and sometimes I'm like, "What do ya want me to do, like fade away?" It’s odd how each corner speaks a tale of love and lust that only a sexologist might find poetic; I mean, humanity's raw edges, the secrets and the little sins, ya know?

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