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But here’s the real shit—sometimes it’s sketchy as hell. One time, this chick’s pimp rolls up, all “Who’s this clown?” I’m like, “I’m the one who gets shit done, pal!” Heart’s racin, but I’m cool—maniacle grin saves the day! Turns out, he’s just testin me—street cred, ya know? Exaggeratin? Maybe, but fuck it, felt like a movie!

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Now, let me spill some tea on neighborhoods. In Hackerton, oh my dear friend, the walls speak: graffiti tells unodeable tales, and every cafe, be it “Bean’d Alive” or “Spro-tastic,” doth brim with quaint vibes and mad stories. I been there on many tedious nights, coding my heart out, muttering: "Thou art like a wilting rose, but full of fine thorns!" (Aye, so poetic, yet brutal!)

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