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About Arecibo

So, I’m thinkin bout my fave flick, *Stories We Tell*, that Sarah Polley gem – “Who’s your daddy?” she asks, all deep and twisty. Made me wonder bout these lasses on the street, y’know? Who’s their story? Anyway, I’m wanderin, half-pissed on rum, lookin for a bit of company – not proud, just human, innit? Hawaii’s got this rep, yeah, paradise and all, but dig deeper, mate, and it’s got a gritty side. Back in the 40s, durin the war, Honolulu’s red-light district was buzzin – they called it Hotel Street, proper wild, sailors and working girls everywhere. Little known fact: the coppers let it slide cos it kept the lads in line. History, eh? Blew my mind when I read that.

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The local church—yeah, Iglesia San Antonio—is a haven on Sunday mornings. I’ve sat on its ancient stone steps, spilling my counselor heart out to the sounds of distant chants; sometimes it feels like the harsh whisper of fate from Werckmeister Harmonies: “Time itself is a great, unsolvable puzzle…” or something deep like that. And the vibe? So raw, so human.

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