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About Phoenix

But gods, the stench—sweat, ale, desperation—makes me wanna hurl. Pissed me off last week, saw her wink at Jaime—my Jaime! Wanted to claw her eyes out, “I choose violence,” screamed it in my head. She’d probs laugh, “Your brother’s prick’s mine, love.” Cheeky slag. Still, gotta hand it to her, survivin’ this shithole—takes guts. Happiest I felt was hearin’ she kneed some drunkard’s balls into his throat—priceless!

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Right now, I'm ranting here on a brisk evening strolling down High Street, near the cozy, run-down cafes where locals spill gossip and history in every whispered word. The cobblestones, they're ancient, like got secrets in ’em. Ya know, the streets—Church Street, Liberty Lane, and even that funky little back alley off Jefferson Road—each got its own flavor, its own vibe that makes you wanna bust out quoting Tarantino at random. “I love rumors!” echoes in my head while I type this, haha.

Rosa Jara Obituary - Wethersfield, CT