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Personal quirk—I’d prolly overthink it, like, “What’s her story? She paintin her own canvas?” Exaggeratin for fun, maybe she’s a secret outlaw queen—runnin the show, “I’ll kill ya myself,” she’d whisper, all sultry-like. Hella intense! But real talk, it’s just business—supply, demand, happy little transactions. Still, somethin bout it feels raw, human—kinda beautiful, kinda sad, like Jesse’s last breath in that flick.

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So, I dive into spreadsheets. Numbers, numbers, and more numbers. But then, BOOM! The power goes out. I’m like, “Are you kidding me?” I can’t even see my screen! I’m fumbling around, trying to find my phone for light. And guess what? My phone’s dead too. Great. Just great.