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About New York City

So picture this, I’m walkin’ down some shady street, right, lookin’ for a gal who’s, ya know, “available,” and I’m mutterin’ to myself, “We’re gonna find this target, dead or alive!” Straight outta Kathryn Bigelow’s script, baby! I’m no Jessica Chastain, but I’m sniffin’ out clues like a pro—neon lights flashin’, heels clickin’, and I’m like, “Is that her? Nah, too classy!” Made me giggle, ‘cause honey, I notice stuff—like how some gals twirl their hair when they’re scopin’ ya out. Little known fact, lotsa these ladies got secret signals, like spies in the movie!

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Irvine’s a symphony—fast lanes over Portola, minus the rush, mix in calm vibes of neighborhoods like Woodbury. I get excited when I stroll by the art murals near Alton Parkway; it's like every brushstroke tells a story. Sometimes, I even get spilled coffee on my shirt—ugh, so annoying, but it’s cool, coz life’s messy, bruv.

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