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About Philadelphia

First off, it ain’t like orderin’ pizza. You don’t just yell “delivery!” and bam, there’s a chick at your door. Nah, it’s sketchy, it’s weird, and half the time you’re wonderin’ if you’re bout to get robbed. Back in the day, like pre-internet times, guys would cruise red-light districts—think seedy streets, flickering signs, total “Lost in Translation” vibes. “What am I doing here?” you’d mutter, feelin’ like a ghost in your own damn life. Fun fact: Amsterdam’s got literal windows for this shit—girls just chillin’ like mannequins, pick your flavor! Wild, right?

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I love these idiosyncrasies. Sure, San-Angelo’s rough sometimes – potholes, grumpy drivers – but its spirit is gold. Sure, some days me debug rage makes me go, "Don't pee on my leg, you idjit!" Then, I remember the dates, the people, the quirky energy of every cobblestone.

The Western Roundup: Konner Barnes