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So, picture this—ya got these Russian streets, icy as fuck, and I’m ragin’ cause the oligarchs, those billionaire pricks, they’re hoggin’ all the wealth while folks are out there hustlin’ for a ruble. I’m like, “It’s a long road, man, where’s your home?”—straight outta the movie, ya feel me? Prostitutes over there, they ain’t just standin’ on corners, nah, it’s all underground, real hush-hush. Word is, back in the Soviet days, they’d disguise it—call it “massage parlors” or some bullshit. Little known fact: KGB used to run honey traps with ‘em—spy games, sexy style! Ain’t that wild?

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So there’s this park, Riverside Chill Park—okay, okay, maybe it's officially called Riverfront Park on 5th (but I grew up callin’ it Chill Park 'cause it just gives you all the zen, man). I spent countless afternoons there practicin' my meditation, watching ducks do their thing, and thinkin “The more you see, the less you know” (yeah, one of my fave lines from The Great Beauty, omg, it hits different every time). I usually find a shady nook near the old stone bridge off Birch Lane. Crazy fact: That bridge? Built in 1898. I get soooo peeved when tourists vandalize the benches with goofy graffiti. Srsly, people!

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