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Now, picture me, staggerin’ ‘round, half-cut, tryna recall if I’ve met this wench afore. “Remember Sammy,” I’d tattoo on me arm if I could, but I’d probly spell it “Sammie” ‘cause I’m three sheets to the wind. Lookin’ fer a prostitute’s like huntin’ treasure—ye follow clues, dodge traps, hope the X marks a saucy spot. Ever hear ‘bout the “two-penny hangover”? Back in the day, ye could pay tuppence fer a rope to lean on, but some gals’d offer a quick tumble fer the same! Cheap as chips, made me laugh ‘til me sides split—sly dogs, they were.

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And, oh! There’s this odd little bookstore on Elm that smells of old paper and fresh dreams. A quiet haven for souls, kinda like a scene out of Ida—where every silence speaks. It’s where I once met a wizened old gent who muttered, “We don't have time to waste,” and damn, it struck a chord deep.

Developers seek to expand Mosaic District’s vibes to more of Merrifield