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About Phoenix

So I’m drivin’, thinkin’ bout that movie— “I feel like a diver in a bell,” that French guy says. Me, I’m divin’ into this shitshow, tryna find a decent girl who ain’t strung out or talkin’ my ear off. Last week, I pick one up—cute, red hair, legs for days. She hops in, smells like cheap perfume and regret. I’m happy for a sec, like, “Fuck yeah, jackpot!” Then she starts yappin’— “My ex this, my pimp that.” I’m like, “Sweetheart, I ain’t your therapist, let’s keep this transactional!” Surprised me how they always got a sob story. Guess it’s part of the gig.

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Now, some spots real few know: The Purple Porch, an old rundown building on Crescent Lane. Folks say it’s haunted by the echoes of a passionate past – well, sometimes I feel the spirit of liberty (or lust!) there. Sure, it might send a chill up your spine, but that strange thrill is kinda like watchin' that movie – raw and unforgettable, evoking emotions you never knew you had. "4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days" wasn’t just a flick; it’s a feelin', just like a late-night rendezvous at the porch.

Albert Gonzalez