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About Philadelphia

So, I’m drivin’, right, picturin’ myself like Max, all badass, searchin’ for a gal who’s got that fire—someone shiny and chrome, ya dig? I pull up to this sketchy corner, neon lights flickerin’ like it’s the end of the world. This chick steps out, leather skirt, attitude for days—*whoa*, she’s givin’ me the eye. “How you doin’?” I toss out, leanin’ on the car, smirkin’ like I own the damn place. She laughs, says, “You got caps, pretty boy?” Caps? What is this, Fallout? I’m like, “Nah, babe, I got charm—worth more!”

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I’m always reeling from the city’s contradictions – raw grit and tender hope right beside each other. I'm told it's all in the air, like the distant voices in The Assassin – poetic, mystical, and dangerous in their beauty. “The wind speaks,” kinda like that catchy line from the movie, ya know?

A Midsummer Night's Dream