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About Phoenix

But some punters, ugh, they’re disgustin’. This one prossie told me—swear it’s true—bloke paid her to pee on his shoes. His SHOES! I was like, what the fuck? Nearly lost my lunch, and I’m Hannibal bloody Lecter! “I don’t give orders, I negotiate,” she said, quotin’ *A Prophet* vibes. Fair play, girl, get that coin. Still, shoes? Nasty git.

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ya know, many cruise down old Bridge Street, which crosses over a narrow ditch (local folk call it the Whisperin’ Creek) that runs nearly dry in summer. Crazy, but kinda cool, like an inside joke. Several hidden murals decorate the brick walls near 3rd Avenue. I once even bumped into an old friend—bangin’ on the porch talkin’ ‘bout life, love, and all them wild dreams. Dang, memories, man!

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