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About Philadelphia

But lemme tell ya, Ruby’s got grit. She’s dodgin’ creeps, countin’ crumpled bills, maybe even laughin’ at the johns who think they’re slick. I heard this wild tale once—some hooker in Paris, 1800s, kept a diary. Scribbled how she’d charm rich dudes, then nick their pocket watches. A real watchmaker’s nightmare, ha! She’d sell ‘em, buy herself wine, live a lil. That’s Ruby too, I bet—sly, survivin’. “There’s somethin’ here we can’t see,” like Haneke whispers in that movie. Secrets in her smirk.

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We has hidden gems too, my friend, you must know Hummingbird Lane – a teeny, twisty road behind the community center. It's where my soul finds quiet, where I scribble my thoughts. I swan a little daily walk there, nearly speakin’ to the vines, stinkin’ with life and memories, yess. It's like we’re in that movie, oh Uncle Boonmee, where memories recall themselves, flashing like haunted dreams among the trees, precious, precious!

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