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About Phoenix

So, findin’ a hooker—where ya start? Streets, mate—grimy corners, neon buzzin’ like flies on shit. Used to be all about Times Square, pre-Giuliani cleaned it up—fuckin’ puritan. Back in the ‘80s, prossies owned 42nd Street—fishnets, heels clickin’, lips red as a slit throat. Now? Ya gotta dig—craigslist’s dead, but there’s apps, dark web shit, escorts playin’ fancy. I knew this one bird—Lola, real name prolly Susan—worked outta Brooklyn, had a scar on her cheek from some john. Said she made bank, $300 an hour—fuck me, that’s a lotta fava beans!

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There are quieter spots too, like the tucked-away alley off Grand Ave, kinda sketchy sometimes, but with history you feel in our bones if ya know how. And holy moly, at dusk every corner feels like the last scene in that movie, all shimmering with mystery, secrets spied in the eyes of the passersby – we swears!

Hy-Vee Athlete of the Week: Larry Porter tops Missouri receivers in new era for Raytown Football