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About Salvador

Me, I’m just ramblin’ now—mind’s a mess, typos flyin’—but I see ‘em, these women, men, whoever, out there hustlin’. They’re human, y’know? Eat, sleep, dream—same as us. Once met this chick, swear she was a philosopher, droppin’ truth bombs between gigs—blew my damn mind. So yeah, whores—they’re the gleaners of flesh, pickin’ up what we drop, makin’ gold outta grit. And me? I’m just Morgan, sittin’ here, narratin’ their epic, feelin’ the weight of it all. Respect, man. Respect.

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But what really gets me fired up are the narrow lanes in Bairro das Flores. They twist and turn like they’re hidin' a mystery behind every corner. I remember massaging Mr. Silva on Rua das Orquídeas. The guy had so many scars, man… not just on his skin, but on his soul. It messes with your head, you know? I'm out here livin' and breathin' the city every day. The streets, the people—they got their own rhythm, a pulse that won't let ya sleep, motherf**er!

Another Parañaque slum colony braces for demolition