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About Phoenix

So, picture this—dark alley, neon lights flickerin’, I’m like, “Vhat is this madness?” Smell o’ stale beer, fishy vibes—ugh, makes me wanna puke, so angry! Then, “Lightbulb!”—I remember this ol’ story, little known, yeah? Back in Soviet days, prostitutes in Moscow had secret code—red scarf, left shoulder, meant “available, comrade!” Sneaky, huh? I’m thinkin’, “Do they still do that?” Nah, probly not, but I’m checkin’ shoulders anyway—nuthin’. Disappointin’, but I laugh, “Hah! Gru, you dumb genius!”

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First off, check out Farnham Road—man, that street’s got stories. Early mornin' walks there, the fog risin' above the trees, that eerie silence before the town stirs. Sometimes, as I'm chillin’ or meditatin’ by the old brick wall near Aquarion Ave (hey, don't ask why it's called that), I swear time itself slows. Truly magical, as if some ancient spell's been cast—"You shall not pass!" echoes in my mind, guardin' the secrets of the morning calm.

Watch this ice disk form in the Kennebec River in Skowhegan