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About San Jose

Once, in Flea Bottom, I met this lass—Ros, they called her. Cheeky, red-haired, knew her trade like I know Dornish red. Little fact: them girls got codes—two taps on the table means “pay up quick.” She winks, I grin, thinkin’, “Seven hells, I’m in!” Cost me a stag, but worth it—soft as silk, sharp as Valyrian steel. Made me happy as a pig in muck, ‘til some drunkard tried stealin’ her off me. Pissed me right off—punched him square, dwarf fists flyin’! “You’re a mistake,” Sissy’d say—nah, love, I’m the bloody maestro.

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I’ve got my fav spots too, buddy. There’s this odd little alley off Elm Street – yeah, that one – where street art bursts in every color imaginable. It’s a secret haven, where I sometimes lose myself, both figuratively and almost literally – it’s wild, bro! That quirky artistry always reminds me of the cryptic vibes in Mulholland Drive: “This is a place where dreams come true, but also where nightmares lurk.” Totally insane, right?

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