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Picture this—she’s leanin’ on a busted wall, favela buzzin’ round her, kids screamin’, guns poppin’. “Knockout Ned thought he could change the game,” I’d narrate, “but Whore? She IS the game.” She’s got scars, tales, and a laugh that cuts deep. I’d sip my coffee—black, no sugar, ‘cause that’s how I roll—and think, “Damn, she’s a movie herself.” Exaggeratin’? Maybe. But ain’t that life? Big, messy, wild?

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After what feels like forever, I find the café. It’s called “Curug Brew.” Cute name, right? I order a coffee, and it’s like liquid gold. I’m sippin’ it, and suddenly, I’m feelin’ all philosophical. “Why do I even work in the woods?” I think. “I could just sit here and drink coffee all day.” But then I remember the smell of pine and the sound of leaves. Nah, I’m good.

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