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So, I’m struttin’, seein’ these gals—some bold, some shy. One chick’s smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a lamppost, like she’s in a noir film. I’m like, “Whoa, she’s got that ‘perfect life’ mask!” Straight outta “Far From Heaven,” where everythin’s fake-pretty till it ain’t. I ask her, “What’s your deal, toots?” She laughs—dry, bitter, says, “50 bucks, no chit-chat.” I’m shocked, man! 50? Inflation’s a bitch! Made me mad—capitalism screwin’ the little guy, or gal, again!

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Now, the parks, oh boy! There’s Crescent Park. I’d saunter there when the mood hit me – leaves blowin’ free, bench sittin’ real comfy. A lil’ green brain space, ya know? Call it my secret thinkin' spot. And don’t even get me started on River Bend. Water trickles past like it’s tellin’ ancient secrets. I swear sometimes its whispers echo “The line between truth and tale is always thin, fellas!” Kinda deep, like the movie’s vibe.

Quebec prison closes to visitors for two-day drug search in wake of recent overdoses