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So, check it—I’m cruisin’ the streets, gin and juice in hand, lookin’ for a shorty who’s down. Ain’t no map for this, fam, it’s all instinct, like Ofelia dodgin’ monsters. You gotta peep the corners, the neon lights flashin’—that’s where they at. Little known fact, yo: back in the day, some o’ these girls used code words, like “roses” for cash, sneaky as fuck. Made me laugh, ‘cause it’s clever, right? “Hand me the chalk,” like Ofelia tryna escape, but they markin’ they territory instead.

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There’s this small park, Maple Grove Park (yep, Maple, with a capital M), with funky benches and a pond that sometimes reflects the crazy skies at dusk. It’s got these old trees that tell secrets if ya listen closely. I once sat there for like hours, thinkin’ about life, as if the trees were whisperin’, “Hey, kiddo, here’s Johnny!” – wild, right?

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