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About Phoenix

Now, *Moolaadé*—that bit where Collo screams, “I say no!”—I reckon a prossie’s got that fire, too. Saying no to the world’s sanctimonious guff. Respect, that. Once met a gal, Soho, 3 a.m., she says, “Boris, love, 50 quid, no kissing”—I weren’t buying, just curious! Swear she’d a PhD in sass—told me to sod off, posh-like. Laughed me tits off—cheeky mare! Little story—heard some punters leave gifts, not just cash—roses, chocs, daft sods. Romantic or pathetic? You tell me.

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I’ve been here for years. Seen love, heartbreak, and feisty debates about which dive bar is legit. Crazy nights, weird mornings. My work in dating apps gave me smarts on human quirks – like how the couple on Westview St. always gossip about that bizarre pigeon statue in Central Plaza. I mean, who knew pigeons could spark such deep convos? Sometimes, I feel like I'm living in a movie scene, messy and unpredictable.

‘U’ Heads to Johns Island for Briar's Creek Invitational