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About Trujillo Alto

And the risks! Oh, don’t get me started. You’re dodgin’ cops, STDs, and God knows what else. I’d be whisperin’ to myself, “This is how I die, isn’t it?” Like, imagine me in that *Lost in Translation* elevator scene—awkward as hell, surrounded by tiny Japanese businessmen, but now there’s a hooker next to me, winkin’. I’d freak out! “What am I supposed to say to her?!” Probably somethin’ dumb like, “So, uh, you come here often?” Total trainwreck.

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I get to the bakery, and it’s like a scene from a horror movie. Flour everywhere! I mean, I love my job, but come on! I’m not a ghost, I don’t need to be floating in flour clouds. I start mixing dough, and my mind’s racing. I’m thinking about the fiesta this weekend. Gonna be lit! Everyone’s gonna be out on Calle 65, dancing, eating, and just vibing.

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