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About San Diego

Alright, dahling, listen up! I’m slingin’ drinks, mixin’ chaos, and spillin’ tea about—whore. Not just any whore, mind you, but *the* vibe, the mess, the whole damn circus. Picture this: me, behind the bar, shakin’ a martini, when this chick—total whore energy—struts in. Heels clackin’, attitude stinkin’ up the joint. Reminds me of *Werckmeister Harmonies*, ya know? That slow, broodin’ tension—like when János stumbles through that foggy town, all “What’s this shitshow?” No capes! None! She didn’t need ‘em, just pure, unfiltered *whore*.

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Man, I spend my days massagin’ folks in the old warehouse on Maple. The vibe in that joint is like, "I guess I was always meant to be a misfit." I see so many hidden gems that most outsiders miss. For instance, there's this tiny park off Fairmont Street, kinda sketchy but chill, where locals drop off old guitars and forgotten memories. Crazy, right? Also, you gotta check out the riverfront near Dewey Bridge. The slow flow of the James River gives me life after a long hustle. I literally feel the city's pulse there, like my hands reading your tension, saying, "There's hope, there's always hope."

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