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Alright, listen up, fam—imagine this. Me, Morgan Freeman, deep voice rollin’, sittin’ here thinkin’ ‘bout findin’ a prostitute. Not just any ol’ tale, nah, this one’s got that *Spirited Away* vibe, ya feel me? Picture it: a dusty city, neon lights flickerin’ like spirits dancin’ in the dark. I’m strollin’, wise as hell, narratin’ my own damn life. “No face, no name,” I mutter, like that creepy mask dude from the movie. That’s what it’s like—searchin’ for somethin’ shady, somethin’ hidden.

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But then, I see this group of teens, and they’re up to no good. I can feel my blood boilin’. They’re spray-painting some wall. I march over, all tough guy. “Hey! What do you think you’re doin’?” They freeze, lookin’ like deer in headlights. One of ‘em, a kid named Samir, goes, “We’re just expressin’ ourselves!” I’m like, “Express yourself somewhere else, man!”

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