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About New Plymouth

I ain’t judgin’, nah—live your truth, boo! But damn, some shit I heard? Gets me heated! Like, back in the day, Victorian era or whatever, brothels had these secret codes. Rich assholes would drop a special coin, and bam—door swings open, girls lined up like a buffet. Wild, right? Makes me holler, “It’s about damn time!”—time for some realness, not this sneaky crap. Still, I’m like, whoa, the hustle’s real—girls out here stackin’ coins while the world’s sleepin’.