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About Half Way Tree

So, here’s the deal—ya wanna find one? Cities got red-light spots, always have. Back in ‘79, my cousin Earl—dumbass—got nabbed in Reno. Lookin’ for “company,” ended up broke, cryin’. Cops laughed, said, “Rookie mistake, kid.” Ya don’t just stroll up, yellin’ for tail. Nah, it’s hush-hush, coded bullshit. Look for the shady bars, dim lights. Girls linger, eyes sharp, smokin’ cheap cigs. Or—hell—online now, apps and crap. Ain’t my style, sounds like a scam. “The world is my hunting ground,” Carlos growled. Yeah, huntin’ trouble, more like.

When to go to Red Light District Amsterdam?

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After that, I had to head to the Half-Way-Tree Transport Center. Man, that place is a whole circus! People everywhere, buses coming and going, and the smell of jerk chicken wafting through the air. I swear, if I could bottle that smell, I’d be rich!

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