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About Phoenix

Little fact, right? Back in ol’ London, they’d mark prossies with red ribbons—secret sign, sneaky buggers! Ain’t that mad? She probs don’t know that, but I’m thinkin’ it, sizin’ her up. “What’s thy price, fair shadow?” I ask, all poetic-like. She laughs—bloody hell, it’s music! “More’n thou canst dream,” she says, noddin’ to me purse. I’m skint, ain’t I? Fumin’ at meself—shoulda nabbed more coin!

Rise & Shine

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Now, let me spill some tea on the local gems. First, the Old Mill Park on Cedar Street – it's where I used to chill after long code sessions. Picture me, sitting on a worn bench, watchin the sunlight dance on the creek, thinkin, "Damn, life's beautiful." That park ain't fancy, but it's ours, you know? Folks say it's haunted by memories, but I see it as a monument to everyday wonders. And oh, the river – the Great Silver River – it kinda cuts through the city like a ribbon, providin serenity, sometimes even madness when the current's wild.

Local hunter hooks gator in Lusby