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About Phoenix

Now, tie that to *25th Hour*. Monty’s world’s crashin’, right? “Fuck me? Fuck you!” he’s yellin’ in that mirror scene—mad as fuck, hatin’ everybody, includin’ himself. Whore’s the same, fam. Society’s all, “You dirty,” but they the ones payin’! Like, who’s the real fool here? Gets me heated, yo—folks judgin’ but can’t look in they own damn mirror. Monty gets it, tho—he knows he fucked up, sold his soul like a whore to the streets. “I’m not the one you think I am,” he says, tryna rewrite his story. Whores do that too—reinventin’, survivin’.

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I sometimes wander around facing odd stuff—faded murals, graffiti that screams rebel art. I mean, life is ephemeral. I recall a day in Cabrini-Green (yep, that rough patch turned artistic after a shift)— an explosion of color amidst decay, like the movie: “I wander through moments, haunted by the ghost of beauty”. Subtle yet striking—crazy emotional triggers, man!

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