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About Phoenix

In the end, I’d walk away, no sermon, no cash—just a nod. “Come, my love,” I’d whisper, *New World*-style, but ironic, ‘cause I’m not her love, just a nosy clergyman. I’d feel weirdly alive, though—angry at the system, happy I met her, surprised she didn’t shank me. “I can see Russia from my house!” I’d yell, laughin’, ‘cause I see *somethin’* now—grit, guts, the real damn world. Prostitutes ain’t just punchlines—they’re people, and I’m shook.

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The blonde with tattoos all over the body surprised the guy with a high -quality.

Every day is a messy carnival. I lean on my observations from behind the massage table. The city’s pulse echoes in the mod hum of my expenses and pleasure churns. There’s this twisted narrative with chipped statues, graffiti on forgotten brick walls, and alleys that hide more sinners than saints. Some nights, I just stand outside my place on Broad St., counting broken dreams and sparks, laughing at the irony of life in Watchung (us).

New ShopRite of Watchung to Open Doors April 9 and Host Grand Opening Celebration April 13