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About Phoenix

Oi mate, brothel, eh? What a bloody shithole! Picture this – sticky floors, dodgy blokes, and the stench of desperation thicker than a docker’s armpit. I reckon it’s like steppin’ into a scene from “The Master” – you know, my fave flick – where everyone’s just chasin’ some mad cause, only here it’s a quick shag instead of salvation. “You’re a rummy!” I’d yell, cacklin’, at the punters stumblin’ in, wallets out, dignity gone.

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The vibe is sometimes absurd, like you gotta keep your cool while the city jams you up with noise and fast-paced energy. You ever just chill at the curb by West 87th? I do. I lie there on my back, lookin’ at the blazin' sky, and for a sec, I'm like “Oh, what a day” – then bam, another honk to yank ya back to reality. Crazy, right?

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