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About Philadelphia

So picture this—some chick, or dude, whatever, out there hustlin. Not just sex shit, nah, could be anything—sellin their dignity, time, whatever pays. Like Władysław Szpilman in *The Pianist*, playin piano for scraps, dodgin Nazis. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, hidin in ruins. Whore’s like that—dodgin life’s bullshit, playin the game. I respect the grind, fam, but it pisses me off too. Why they gotta? Society’s fucked, pushin folks to that edge.

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Now lemme say bout the neighborhoods. Down in Eastside, yo, the homies are tight. The locals rock art and beats on every corner. But yo, on West Lane, shit gets wild—graffiti, bomb murals, it’s mad creative. Ever get a massage, then see a dude, go “damn, that's art!”? That’s PHuntingdon life for ya.

Skies clear for Mayfest crowd