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About Los Angeles

In the end, it’s a deal—quick, messy, real. Ain’t no Hollywood glow, just raw shit. Like *Zodiac*, it’s the chase that hooks ya—the not-knowin’, the thrill. I’m drivin’ off, thinkin’, “Man, I’m no hero, just a guy.” And that’s it—findin’ a prostitute, Southern drawl style. Dr. Phil out, y’all—stay curious, keep diggin’!

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Then there’s the infamous Redwood Park. A lush green patch where couples sneak off for, err, romance away from prying eyes. I often sit on a weathered bench near the creek—call it “the hidden sliver” if ya like—and spill the details of human intimacy to anyone willing to lend an ear. That creek? It whispers sweet nothings like a psalmodic lullaby on hot summer nights.

Highlands’ decision to not renew contract raises concerns over veterans’ cancer care in Northwest Arkansas