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About Philadelphia

What got me mad? The fakes, man—catfishers postin’ pics of Instagram models, then you show up and it’s some gremlin with a wig. Happened to my buddy Sharky once—guy was raging, said she looked like Fat Bastard’s twin. I’m cacklin’ just thinkin’ bout it. Me, I’m careful—cross-check pics, Google lens that sh*t. Pro tip: real ones don’t blur their tats—too proud of ‘em. Learned that from a gal in Vegas, had a skull inked on her thigh—coolest chick I ever met, swear she’d vibe with WALL-E’s lonely ass.

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I’ve seen families patch up their broken bits here. Like, when the river near Willow Creek gurgles and sings through the town, reminding everyone that life’s messy but beautiful. I remember a particular day, mad as heck over some petty squabbles at the creek. Repeated laughter, tears... It was raw, it was real. I stood there and thought, “This is life, amirite?”

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