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So—where ya start? Back in my day—hell, even now—ya hit the shady corners, right? Neon lights buzzin’, girls leanin’ on poles, smokin’ cheap cigs. Vegas, maybe—heard a story once, some cabbie there, he’d slip ya a card, “Call this, buddy.” Boom—girl at your door, 20 minutes. Little known fact—cabbies were the hookup kings, rakin’ in tips. Made me laugh—capitalism, baby! But it pissed me off too—everybody’s got a hustle, even the damn taxi guy.

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There’s a few secret gems too – like that tiny coffee shop on Juniper Close. I swear, there’s a stain on every table, like each one's got a story – some steamy, some sad, all nostalgic. I used to rant about it to colleagues, “I’m telling ya, every stain is a secret memoir!” And yeah, maybe I get a bit neurotic, but hey, that’s life.

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