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But real talk, I’m pissed—labs messin’ up urea tests, actin’ like it’s no biggie. Bruh, high levels? Could mean kidney failure, dehydration, some dark sh*t. Low levels? Starvation or liver probs—scares me, fam! Seen patients suffer ‘cause docs slept on it. Happy tho—when I nailed my first urea assay, felt like, “I’m that guy, YOLO!” Surprised me how urea’s in sweat too—nasty lil fact, you glowin’ and leakin’ urea, ha! Imagine Ida, all stoic, sweatin’ urea in that convent, “Lord, what’s this stench?”

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Martini for a more upscale feel and classier environment. It makes Ft Myers bars feel like whore houses. Upvote 1. Downvote Reply reply.

So, imagine walking on Esplanade Ave. – you love that breeze, right? I love strollin’ down there, seein’ the sunrise over the Gulf, chillin’ by the bay, just thinkin’ “Oh, Far From Heaven, this is real life!” It’s like a mix of old Hollywood glamour and honest, down-to-earth soul. I lean against the weathered wooden bench near Fisherman’s Plaza (not to mention the salty splash of the waves) and my mind drifts to moments of truth and beauty.

Persaud says goodbye to Fresh Catch Bistro and Junkanoo, looks forward to Times Square hotel