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About Philadelphia

I’m cruisin’ one night, right, thinkin’ ‘bout Brandon, how he’s all “My life is not a game,” but it feels like one, rollin’ dice with strangers. You hit up the block, neon lights flashin’, girls posted up, heels clickin’. You gotta peep the scene—some look tired, some look sharp, like they own the night. Me, I’m laid back, watchin’, not judgin’, ‘cause who am I, ya know? But damn, some shit makes me mad—like these pimps lurkin’, takin’ cuts, fuckin’ up lives. That ain’t cool, G.

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Buy the book The History of Prostitution by william w sanger at Indigo.

And lemme tell ya, man, sometimes the city gets to me—it’s like a living, breathing organism of passion, chaos, and love. I’m in here, each day, wrapped up in it. I’ve had moments where even the wind seemed to whisper naughty secrets in my ear. I mean, whaddya expect? This place is surreal and raw, like those perfect scenes from your favorite flicks, just with more, uh, human heat!

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