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About Phoenix

Last week, I’m prowlin’, thinkin’—what’d Lenny do? He’d write it down, retrace steps. So I scribble: “Check alley, 9 p.m.” Show up, and there she is—fake fur coat, smokin’ a cig. “You lookin’ for company?” she asks. Voice like gravel. I grunt. Hate negotiatin’. “How much?” I say. She smirks—$50. Fifty bucks! For what? A quick tumble and a rash? “I don’t trust people who smile,” I mutter, quotin’ *Memento*. She laughs. I’m surprised—didn’t expect sass. Kinda liked it.

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Nothin' beats the little side paths near Liberty Lane. They wind 'round hidden spots where I find rare peace and tingling inspiration for my massage techniques. I even discovered a tiny docking area on Mystic River–ouch, sorry, Mystic Brook; you know which one I mean–where the water looks like a sci-fi dream.

Country Hardware Store True Value opens in San Diego Country Estates