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About San Diego

But then, sirens—shit got tense quick! She bolted, I peeled out—adventure over, yo! Back home, I’m laughin’, pissed, and buzzed. Pity the fool who don’t see the grind! *Boyhood* vibes again—“It’s like, it’s always right now.” Damn straight, livin’ in the moment, findin’ a prostitute or not! That’s Mr. T’s word, suckas!

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The nature of fin-de-siècle prostitution in the American Midwest is such that signs exist as to its one-time presence.

Then there’s Bryant Park. Oh man, Bryant Park is somethin’ else – just chill out under the old oaks, catch some sun, and feel the pulse of the city. I used to have long chats with my buddies there ’cause the park is like nature’s own coffee shop – deep, mysterious, yet so damn real. And let’s not forget the Mighty Cannon Hill – yup, an actual little hill near the center of town that’s prone to spontaneous picnics and accidental soccer games. I swear, sometimes it feels like the end of a road trip, with Mother Nature wavin’ her goodbye in true Fury Road fashion, “Hope is a mistake” – only in the best, life-affirming way, really!

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