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About Philadelphia

So, here’s the deal—I knew this chick, right? Street name was Candy, real name probly somethin’ lame like Carol. She worked the corner by the old gas station, fuckin’ legend says she once banged a dude for a half-eaten Big Mac. Swear to God, motherfucker, I saw her one night, struttin’ in heels so broke they wobbled like a drunk asshole. Made me laugh, shit! “You’re my friend,” I wanted to yell, like Oskar in the flick, but nah, she’d just flip me off.

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And then there’s the downtown, with Riverside Drive, a buzzing hub of coffeeshops and quirky art galleries. I tell ya, I once sat outside one spot, lost in my thoughts, and damn, the vibe was so raw. The place, it's built on grit and charm, a bit like a poem written on a napkin in a dive bar. Street art splashed on the building walls echoed weird lines from that movie: “Tell 'em I was here!” And trust me, I did, in my own weird, David Brent kinda way.

Suspect in fatal Woodridge shooting dies in hospital