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About Phoenix

So, here’s the deal—small town, right? You’d think it’s all pure, apple-pie bullshit. Nah. There’s this dive bar, stinks like stale beer and regret, called The Rusty Nail. Word is, back in ‘89, some chick named Darla ran a whole operation outta the jukebox corner. Little known fact—cops didn’t bust her ‘cause she paid ‘em in meatloaf. Meatloaf! Can you believe that garbage? Made me laugh, then pissed me off. Idiots.

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Now, lemme tell you ‘bout my fav park: The Willow Bend Greens. Under shady trees, every leaf’s a battle scar of time and every bench is a confessional for lost dreams, you know? I used to come here after a long day of pleasure coaching—helps to let the craziness of life slip away, if even for a minute. And yo, by the Kinsley River, right along Riverside Drive, there’s a spot where the sunset’s so damn epic you’d swear time stopped just to watch that fiery sky.

Beaufort Marine airbase commander out for ‘Loss of trust.’ Next stop: Parris Island