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About New York City

Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s a gritty gig. Streets ain’t kind, coppers neither. But there’s a rhythm to it, see? Night falls, they emerge, like moths to a flame. Calm, yeah, steady – it’s their dance. Some punters are sweet, some are wankers, but she’s got her rules, her patch. “Directive,” she’d say, like WALL-E, stickin’ to her code. Respect that, I do.