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Here’s a fun fact—didja know prostitutes in Vegas sometimes use codewords? Like “roses” for cash—50 roses, 100 roses—sneaky, huh? Blows my mind! I’m all, “That’s genius!”—makes me happy, ‘cause I love clever stuff. But then she’s like, “You got money or what?” and I’m fumbling—where’s my wallet?! I’m pissed—why am I so clumsy?! “I’m not a cop!” I blurt—dumbest thing ever. She laughs, “Yeah, no kidding, loser.”

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The moon shines brightly amongst a black sky and swirling clouds. It hangs above a mansion raised on a hill as if chained to it. This mansion is home to a.

I dig ramblin' about neighborhoods too, man. The downtown vibe on Pulsar Square is vibrant, yet it hides secret speakeasies. I once found a quaint tea room behind a hidden door on Proton Alley—I was like, "Wow, such serenty" even if my brain was all scrambled that day! Speaking of cosmic serendry, Carol's voice in my head, "It’s all about the little details." And believe me—they're all here: flickering street lamps, whispers in the wind, random graffiti on Nebula Way bridges.

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