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About Phoenix

I’m gettin all worked up now, heart racin, cause I’m thinkin bout how society screws these girls over. Makes me mad as hell! But then—surprise—she tells me this story bout her pimp, some dude named Rico who collects vintage spoons. SPOONS! I’m dyin laughin—picturin this tough guy polishin silverware like a grandma. “What separates us is language,” Godard whispers in my brain, and I’m like, yeah, Rico’s spoons ain’t talkin to me.

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I spent many sultry nights wandering along the Pace River. The river’s twists remind me of, uh, a sensual dance. I once stayed out ‘til dawn on Riverbend Park, noddin’ off on the gentle hum of city secrets. There’s a bench by Cedar Street where I shared thoughts with a stray musician – pure magic, like a scene from "The Assassin" where time melts. Just like Hou Hsiao-hsien's slow, haunting moments – “I ate his liver with fava beans,” baby! Unforgettable imagery, right?

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