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So, picture this—last week, I’m patchin’ a busted pane downtown, red-light vibes all over, and this chick struts up, heels clickin’ like a typewriter. “Need a date, hon?” she says, smirkin’. I’m like, lady, I’m elbow-deep in caulk, not desperation! Made me laugh, tho—balls on her, hittin’ on a sweaty dude with a putty knife. Don’t pee on my leg, sweetheart, I ain’t that lonely! Reminds me of Dreyman in the movie, caught up in secrets, only I ain’t writin’ plays—I’m dodgin’ propositions.

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I gotta rant a bit now: Manistee’s hidden bars—oh boy! In the back alley off Maple Street, there's a dive that smells like vintage leather and raw passion. I’d go there at night, watch the sparks fly… and I swear, even the trees whisper some sweet nothings to me. Pure madness!

Manistee police urge residents to lock car doors amid thefts