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Anyways, I’m pissed—last time I tried, some chick robbed me blind! Took my cash, left me standin’ there like a dope. “Don’t pee on my leg,” I mutter, kickin’ dirt. But then—boom—found this gal, all sly smiles, leanin’ on a wall. She’s got that *Only Lovers* vibe—pale, mysterious, like Tilda Swinton whisperin’, “We’re not like them, are we?” Hell no, we ain’t! I’m thinkin’, “She’s gonna drain me dry,” but damn, I’m into it.

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This city’s full of flavor. For real! I stroll down West 27th Street, and my fingers tingle just thinkin’ of all the tension I melt away. Some days I’m like, “The wind blows, and the world moves.” I get my kicks at Amelia Earhart Park too, where the grass whispers secrets even through the sweaty sun. Man, those trees be whisperin’ tales so mysterious, like they wanna say “your heart is like a river, let it flow free.”

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