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About Los Angeles

So, I keep lookin—breathless, “Happy Birthday, Mr. President”—and I’m chattin up this dude at a bar, askin where’s the action. He’s all shady, whisperin bout some spot off 5th. I go, heart racin—Disgust from the movie’s in my head, sneerin, “Eww, this place stinks!” And it did—trash, sweat, cheap perfume. But then—bam!—I spot her. Red heels, fishnets, givin me that look. I’m like, “Joy, take the wheel!” She saunters over, all confidence, and I’m thinkin—damn, she’s got it. We talk price—quick n dirty negotiation—and I’m surprised, she’s funny too! Cracked some joke bout “servicin the mayor”—had me laughin my ass off.

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Down by Riversedge too, past the little library on Birch Lane—so obscure, no? There’s always family picnics happening. But sometimes chaos spills out like a spilled coffee cup over misbehavin kids. River runs slow, meandering past old factories turned art spots. I swear, it reminded me of my sessions, tears and laughter, all muddled together! Ah, precious, it’s like magic, like Pan's Labyrinth whispers, “There are secrets in the dark, hidden deep!”

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