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About Philadelphia

So, Jersey, right? Down by Newark, you cruise slow, headlights dim, lookin’ for that shadow leanin’ on a pole. It ain’t all glitz – no Margot playin’ records in a tent here. Nah, it’s gritty, fuckin’ real. This one time, I saw this chick, red heels, smokin’ a cig like she’s Pacino – I’m like, “Holy shit, she’s got moxie!” Made me happy, y’know? Guts in a world that don’t give a fuck.

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Main St. is wild, full of small but rad cafes and bars. I stroll down Canal St. sometimes—so many stories, ya know? The streets, they got character. I luv how every block tells a tale, like each brick holds a memory. And geez, when I hit the local park, Riverside Grove, my heart beats faster. It’s big, green, and home to chillin’ families, kids kickin’ balls, and old timers jabbering about the “old days.”

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