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About San Jose

So, I’m thinkin’, “One last night to howl,” like Monty says. I’d be nervous, sweatin’ like a pig – D’oh! – prolly trip over my own feet. Maybe I’d spot one, leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’ a cig. “Hey, sugar, need a date?” she’d purr. I’d be all, “Uhh, yeah, sure!” Heart poundin’, palms sweaty – excitin’ but scary, ya know? Reminds me o’ Monty’s panic, that “I’m outta time” vibe. “This life came so close to never happenin’,” he’d say. Deep, right? Almost makes ya feel bad for the gal.

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Now, lemme drop some less-known intel: behind the old mill near River Bend, there's a secret nook reserved for quiet musing – my personal retreat. I once sat there and whispered, "C'est la vie," while watching ripples of water carry old dreams downstream. It struck me, much like the pianist’s haunting verses, “Here I am, a maid of sorrow…,” except in my case, it was pure glee tinged with mischief!

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