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About San Diego

So, I’m scopin’ the scene, right? Red lights flicker, heels clickin’—fuckin’ electric! Reminds me of Monty’s last night—edgy, raw, desperate. I spot her—legs for days, smirk like she owns me already. “Shaken, not stirred,” I mutter, smooth as silk. She laughs—bloody hell, that’s rare! Most girls here don’t crack a smile. Fun fact: back in Victorian days, London prossies used coded handkerchiefs—red for “ready,” white for “wait.” Bet she don’t know that, eh?

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www.facebook.com › Police & Fire.

Man, the city is livin’ and breathin’. I even discovered the tiny Secret Cove on Driftwood Street. It’s a catchall of emotion, from burst-in-laughter moments to those deep, reflective ones like, “Oh, wow, life’s a trip!” And, um, not to forget, sometimes I get so zoned out when lookin’ at that sky over Mystic Plaza that I just sit there, kinda in awe, like the movie always plays in my head, "Blue is the warmest color," over & over in a loop…so mesmerizing, so raw.

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