The road is dark. The road is scary. Yet we live on the road. Eat on the road. Die on the road. Our grandfathers came here centuries ago, and centuries more must we thrive. Blood stains our shirts. We continue to walk down this road, knives clutched in our rough hands. We continue to walk through the city, because this city is ours. And no one will take it from us.
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Penana
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