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So, this one time, heard a tale—some prossie in Paris, right? She’s workin’ corners near them fancy lights, but get this: she’s secretly stashin’ cash to ditch it all! Wanted to be a painter, she did—nuts, huh? Blows me mind, precious! Imagine her, paintin’ flowers while punters leer. “We wants to live!” she’d scream, like Malik yellin’ in them prison walls. But nah, she’s trapped, like us with that cursed Ring.

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The suburban brothels, which recruit "massage parlor girls" through ads in Korean newspapers, have spread along a commuter path from midtown.

Manhasset's got a quirky vibe. Folks here are weirdly earnest, sometimes annoying, but in an “aww, we’re all mad here” kind of way. Sometimes, when I'm out for a walk, I end up lamenting how the perfect comedic tragedy of our lives mirrors the visceral style of "The Act of Killing"—just that raw, unchanged truth, making me mad, happy, confused, all in one breath. And I’m like, “Pretty, pretty good,” but then I get all neurotic as Larry David, thinking, “Why, oh why, must life be so inexplicably bizarre?”

William Miller Obituary (1936 - 2025) - Manhasset, NY - Newsday