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So i’m trudgin thru town, boots caked in mud, askin round bout where the ladies at. Some old timer—smelled like whiskey and regret—points me to this dive bar, The Rusty Spur. “All that is human can sink…”—that’s the vibe there, straight outta the movie. Dark, smoky, eyes followin me like i’m prey. I spot her—red lipstick, skirt shorter than a miner’s fuse. She’s workin the room, all sly smiles and sharp glances. I’m like, “Well, hello, darlin—business or pleasure?” She laughs, says, “Both, if ya got coin.” Got me chucklin—girl’s got sass, i respect that.

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Then, outta nowhere, this old dude comes up to me. He’s like, “You know, that tree’s been here longer than you.” I’m like, “Yeah, I know, man. I’m just tryin’ to help.” He starts tellin’ me stories about Rumoi back in the day. Apparently, this place used to be a big fishing hub. I’m all ears, but I’m also thinkin’, “Dude, I got work to do!”

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