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So, picture this: me, neurotic as hell, watchin’ *Let the Right One In*. Best movie ever, hands down. That creepy Swedish vibe—Oskar and Eli, the blood, the quiet desperation. And I’m thinkin’, “I’m not a girl, I’m not a girl,” like Eli says, right? ‘Cause findin’ a prostitute? It’s got that same weird, twisted energy. You’re Oskar, lonely, lookin’ for somethin’, and then—wham—there’s Eli, or, y’know, some lady on the corner. But it ain’t sweet! It’s dark, it’s messy, it’s freaky!

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I heard rumors that it might be prostitution. But it sounds like something that someone might make up. I'm going to go investigate though.

I remember my first zen session by Morehead Park, near Carlisle Circle. The trees, oh man, they're alive, just whispering cosmic secrets to ya. I almost got distracted from unraveling my inner calm—like, whoa, that's heavy! Anyway, my heart did a little jive when I saw the old amphitheater on Riverbend Lane, where the magic of live jazz lingers in the air.

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