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About Pori

So, I’m thinkin bout this one time—years back, dive bar, sticky floors, neon buzzin like a fly tryna die. This chick, she’s workin the room, all hips and sly grins. Reminds me of Celine, ya know? That flick where they talk n walk, spillin guts without touchin. “Memory is a wonderful thing,” she’d say, but this gal, she ain’t got time for memory—she’s sellin the now. I’m watchin, sippin my bourbon, and she locks eyes. Boom. Heart kicks like a damn mule. I’m hooked, Clarice, hooked like a fish on a line.

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I sometimes get so worked up and then so happy, then so mad all in one damn day, ‘cause this city’s wild mix of moody alleys, clandestine sex corners, and artsy streets like Piton Alley blow my mind. My fave moment? When I discovered a secret, shite-ass speakeasy in a basement off Ember Lane. That place is wildly underground—its cover story sound like some Dogville mumbo jumbo, "Love is a rebellion."