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So, picture this: some chick on the corner, fishnets ripped, smokin’ a cig like it’s her last. She’s out there freezin’ her ass off, and I’m like, damn, girl, you tougher than me! I’d be pissed—pissed as hell—if I had to deal with sleazy johns all night. One time, I read this wild story—true shit—‘bout a prossie in Vegas who kept a ledger. Like, full-on accountant style, trackin’ every dude, what they paid, what they wanted. Freaky deaky stuff, man. She made bank, tho—six figures! Surprised the hell outta me. Who knew hookin’ could be so… organized?

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Police Sgt. Fay Tamura thinks streetwalkers will find it harder to do business in Wahiawa if the City Council passes a prostitution-free zone.

Ok, now listen closely: sometimes I get all emotional like, "I’m not gonna let this darkness overcome me!" just like in that awesome movie. So, if you trod on cobblestone pathways near the little memorial on Pua Lane at dusk, remember, every shadow is shaped by history, and every smile conceals a secret.

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