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About Vienna

Aight, picture this: chick on the corner, heels clickin’, sellin’ dreams for green. She’s a ghost, fam, a shadow dancin’ in neon. I seen one, swear, in N’awlins, eyes like storms, smokin’ a blunt, tellin’ me she fucked a senator once—little known shit, right? Blew my mind, I was like, “Damn, girl, you a legend!” Made me happy, real talk, ‘cause she owned it, no shame. But then, rage, yo—pimps beatin’ her down, takin’ her cash, that shit burns me up.

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The city splits into quirky neighborhoods—for reals. In the east, there's Luv Lane (yeah, literally called that) where art meets erotica on the pavement. Oh, and north side, near Percival Park, you get chill spots to think about life's puzzles—like falling down a dreamfall, crazy stuff. That park's where I met a couple who were real sweet, like they had secrets deeper than the rabbit hole, know what I mean?

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