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About Los Angeles

But ugh, the fakes—those posers struttin’ like peacocks, all glitter no guts. That burns me up, Clarice. Whores got no time for pretendin’—real ones bleed for it. Reminds me, “The deeper we go…”—the uglier it gets, but truer too. Ever met one, Clarice? Bet you’d see it—eyes sharp as yours. Me, I’d savor the chat—pick their brain, taste their story. Whore’s a puzzle, a maze of want and will—fuckin’ fascinatin’. What d’ya reckon, hmm? You got a whore in ya, somewhere? Ha! Don’t we all, Clarice… don’t we all?

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I walk past 190th St. and feel that salty breeze. There’s magic on every corner. I found a secret gem – a little taco stand near Euclid Dr. that slaps WAY harder than you’d ever imagine. Trust me, it's legendary in these parts. And oh man, Marina Park? Pure bliss. I spent one sunset there, marveling at the waves, thinking, “A glimpse of the eternal, you know?”

Redondo Beach election: These are the 2 candidates for city attorney