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Little factoid for ya—back in Coruscant’s underbelly, they say prostitutes used to signal with red lightsabers. True story, swear it. Adds that gritty edge, y’know? Anyway, this gal—shes smokin’, but sneaky. “There’s no trace of my money!” I hiss, checkin’ my pouch. She’s slicker than a Hutt’s slime trail. Surprised me, gotta admit—thought I’d sense the trick. Nope. Mulholland vibes again—“It’s all a tape recording,” playin’ me like a fool.

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Man, sometimes I feel like Beetlejuice on a sugar high! And guess what? Our local park, Silverbrook Park, is like a gem. I often sit near the big oak by the creek, watch families picnick, birds chirp, and get lost in thought—my pleasure coach brain running wild. It’s like the film says, “We're all chasing something,” and here I am, chasing bliss with every sunny day.

What to do with historic former Lutheran church? Pingree Grove debates