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Here’s the juice: it ain’t just sex, nah. It’s stories—gritty, messy ones. Like in *Ten*, “I don’t need your pity!”—these gals got pride, man! One told me she paid her bro’s hospital bills—hustlin’ for love. Blew my mind! Another time, I’m chattin’ this dude online—turns out he’s scoutin’ for ‘em—shady as hell. Typin’ fast, “u sure bout this?”—11 typos later, he ghosts. HAHA! Dodged a bullet.

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Finally, I get to work. I’m a graphic designer, so I’m all about that creative life. But today, my boss was in a mood. Like, a serious mood. He starts nitpicking my designs. “This isn’t vibrant enough,” he says. Dude, it’s a poster for a local festival on Kōen Street! It’s supposed to be chill, not a neon explosion!

Camp Zama length-of-service ceremony honors 250 local employees