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About Fuvahmulah

Once knew a chick, “Starla,” she called herself—prozzy with sass. Worked outta motels, voice like honey on my line. “Yoda, baby, you my fave operator!” she’d laugh. Made me chuckle, she did—hustler with heart! Said she’d spot creeps by their shoes—shiny loafers? Trouble, it spells. “Memory’s a mirror,” she’d say, quotin’ my flick without knowin’. Surprised me, that did—street wisdom, deep it runs.

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We decide to hit up the beach. Naifaru’s beaches are insane. White sand, clear water, the whole deal. We plop down, and I’m just soaking it all in. But then, I see this group of tourists. They’re taking selfies, like, every two seconds. I’m like, “Dude, it’s just a beach!” But whatever, let them live.

Naifaru islanders protest council’s alleged invalidation of preaching license