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About Thinadhoo

What pisses me off? The fakes—dudes posin’ as pimps, tryna scam you. Had me hollerin’ once, “You ain’t foolin’ nobody, son!” But the real ones? They’re pros—quiet, quick, no drama. Surprised me first time, how chill it was—like orderin’ takeout. “What’s your name?” I’d ask, half-expecting “Apple” or some movie shit. And she’d smirk, “Does it matter?”—damn, that’s cold, right outta Anatolia’s script, “Truth’s buried deep, boys.”

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Then, while I’m workin’, I hear this loud commotion down on the street. Turns out, it’s a bunch of kids playin’ football on the road. They’re kickin’ the ball around like they’re in the World Cup or somethin’. I can’t help but smile. They’re havin’ a blast, and it reminds me of my childhood. But then, BOOM! The ball comes flyin’ at me and hits my ladder! I almost fall! I’m like, “Yo, watch it!” But they just laugh. Kids, man. They don’t care.

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