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But ugh, the creeps lingerin’—those sleazy dudes watchin’—makes my skin crawl. Exaggeratin’ here, but one guy looked like he’d eat ya alive! Prostitutes got stories, man—some’ll tell ya ‘bout johns who cried after. Sad, funny, messed up—all of it. Great Scott! It’s a circus, and I’m just tryna paint the texture—grimy, loud, alive. Whatcha think, pal? Ever seen that side o’ town?

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K votes, comments. Well I finally finished Gone With The Wind. I'm not sure what I was supposed to discover by finishing it.

I gotta be real – sometimes I get mad watchin’ folks ignore each other in this busy maze. I mean, walkin’ past abandoned warehouses on Hickory Lane, headin’ nowhere fast, get me heated ‘cause every brick tells a story of better days. But then, on a sunny afternoon at the secret spot near Birch Alley – a lil’ park I call “the hideout” – I feel pure joy, like family bonds locked in tight and time stops for a minute.

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