1 columbia street poughkeepsie

My husband and I have been casually house hunting for 2 years. Last week we noticed an agent from on of the real estate companies having an estate sale, so we called the office and asked if the house was going on the market soon. It's on our #1 desires street in the area, and we were so excited to hear they were listing soon and it was in our budget! The agent let us come see it the same day.
While we were looking at the house, we immediately fell in love. This was it. The agent then starts telling us there is another offer on the house, but it was low ball and she "knew" they wouldn't accept it and there was no rush to make our offer. This was Thursday evening. The seller had 24 hours to accept or deny and she encouraged us to wait until she heard back from them noon the next day. She told us she would be out of town Friday thru Monday but would write up our offer Tuesday.
Initially we agreed that evening and we told her we are making an offer for sure. The next morning we decided we didn't feel comfortable waiting and wanted to make the offer Friday instead of Tuesday. My husband contacted the agent and we didn't hear back from her until half an hour after business hours. At that point the seller had accepted the current offer.
I was devastated and really upset. My husband and I are not experts at house buying, he bought our home before we met 8 years ago, it was a simple process back then and the market was not as cut throat at the time. We made the mistake of trusting the agent and waiting but had she told us not to wait we wouldn't have.
We decided we still wanted to make a back up offer anyway. The agent said on thursday she'd be back Tuesday, but when we asked to meet in office to write out the offer she says she won't be there tomorrow, and is insisting we do it virtually.
Is that normal? I already feel played by this woman and I don't trust her at all. I would make the offer through another company but the house isn't listed so we can't. Should we just have her do the virtual offer anyway or go in office and meet with another agent at the company?

Anyone else hear what sounded like small arms fire around 1:30 am in the first block east of Sacramento Street?

Im traveling in another country at the moment in Latin America. I was fairly drunk this weekend when I met a girl at a bar, we clicked. We were laughing, touching, pretty much everything but when I asked her to come back to my place, she said she couldnt go because she was with her friend. But she promised we would see each other again and exchanged numbers.
After saying bye, I started walking down the street of bars, and to which she followed me saying she needed to charge her phone. We saw a hotel nearby and asked them if she could charge it, and the clerk told her she can charge it if we rent a room for an hour. Apparently this was a love hotel, a hotel where you could "rent" by an hourly rate.
Well, we both ended up just renting the room so we can lay down and charge her phone. Immediately when we entered the room we started kissing when the door shut and before you know it she was sucking my cock and i was slapping her in the face with it. I told her to get on all fours on the edge of the bed, to where i started fucking her hard.
This is when the tequila demons summoned this dirty talk out of me. As I was pounding her from behind in this position I said "Did you think you were going to be fucking me like this right now?! Huh?" "We just met and i got you on all fours taking my dick" "Did you think i was the type of guy to fuck you this way?" things like that. It really raised the temperature up a lot. 1 hour was not enough for us, as the room ended and it was really late and i decided to go home.
I guess i really thought she wasnt interested when i walked away and the charger thing was completely unplanned because if we didnt see this hotel she wouldve most likely just went to another bar to charge her phone.
Were meeting up again this week and i cant stop thinking about how hot it was to talk to her like that. She kept sending me nudes after and told me she wants to see me asap
What kind of dirty talk is this?

Hey everyone, after 1.5 years I finally updated my transportation expansion mod.
This is just a quick update and I hope to add more stuff soon. For now this is what's new: -I mainly did some balancing -I finally fixed traffic accidents which were waaaay too high in early game -I also added 3 new policies (DUI awareness campaign, Green streets project, and Wildlife crossings) -I added a new simulation (Cost of Transportation). -Korean translations (Thanks to TwotoolusFLY_LSh.st)
I already have some ideas for future updates: -New simulations (Average travel time and Noise pollution) -New policies (Ban all cars, underground and elevated highways, charging station subsidies, free public transit, and several more) -New situations (Car-free nation, Dangerous roads, Bicycle nation, Public transit overcrowding)
​
I am curious to see what you guys think and be sure to let me know if you have any suggestions for future updates :)
https://steamcommunity.com/sharedfiles/filedetails/?id=2674583892&searchtext=

Hello, Everyone.
I am going do a quick post about Lin Delia before work. Hope it help. Please let her know about this reddit page, tell her I want to talk to her, or let me know where she is. thank you for your help.
Family: 1. A married sister (work as a banker and husband work in Wall street) in New York (include other relatives)
2. Dad and mom in San Francisco
3. Two cousin and an aunt around Torrance or LA (Southern California) (there is more relatives but those are the ones she told me)
About Lin Delia: 1.Birth: May 2
2. move to New York from China 10 to 11 years ago
3.Went to beauty training school in New York.
4.Live in New York for 3-4 years before moving to California.
5.Own a house in Torrance and a shop around or in Torrance(could be in other area)
6. Own a BMW X5 (maybe 2015 to 2020 I don’t remember)
7.Chinese from Zhejiang province.
8. Never married or have kids
9. Has an Aesthetician License (not sure where she got it)
10. Her parent move to US when she was young

https://abc7chicago.com/chicago-memorial-day-weekend-shootings-shooting-crime-crimes/13314389/
Police said three people were shot while standing on the sidewalk in the 9100-block of South Harper Avenue when someone drove up and fired at around 1:45 a.m.
A 59-year-old man, 57-year-old woman, and a 77-year-old man were all hit and transported to local hospitals.
The violence happening despite Mayor Brandon Johnson's new safety plan, to increase police on the streets and include community groups to help curb violence in the city.

Late at night, stoned and drunk, glancing at VALIS: it is highly experimental: absolutely unoffical, anti-official junk art (i.e., protest art); made of the garbage of the vernacular, informal in structure, incorrect in viewpoint: it speaks for and in the language of, the fashion of, a segment of society normally so disenfrachised that even Binky Brown doesn't act as its voice-- a certain kind of troubled young isolate asking schizophrenic questions like, "Is the universe real? Is God good?" Superstitious and artless and crude? Is that what VALIS is? Or is it very deliberate and careful, carefully fashioned by the most advanced artistic devices possible, in order to give voice to these, the final frontier of disenfranchised people-- as my mail shows! Psychotic or nearly so, alone and brilliant. No one has ever spoken for them-- and in their own way of expressing themselves. This is an artifact, not a sincere (naive) confession; John Clute is wrong! And it will someday so be recognized. It is a cunningly, professionally contrived artifact, i.e., work of protest art, anti-bourgeois and anti-official, but anything but naive. It is evident that I spent years figuring out how to write it. It is not spontaneous autobiography; it is a forgery, a very artistic forgery; only someone knowing about modern nonobjective protest art-- especially that of Weimar!-- would know what VALIS really is. It is like a Warhol painting of a Cambell's soup can. It is very avant-garde. It is not what it seems to be-- it is not quasi-psychotic confession; it is an artifact. Look out; it will delude you. Yes, it is picaresque! And it is a maze; it deliberately deceives-- for the highest possible reason: not an artistic one, but to raise die rote fahne. It is of the 30s. It is dada out of antifascist Weimar. It is, in the final analysis, revolutionary (and it does not have to do with religion; it has to do with revolutionary action against the state!).
Scanner gave voice to the 60s street people. VALIS provides a voice to yet another-- and even more despised-- group-- the adolescent loner intellectual, very much like Jack Isidore! This is a very Christian deed on my part, but its main implications are (1) artistic; and (2) revolutionary. It is true modern art-- that of the refuse stratum of the computer hacker and Dungeons & Dragons era. (Post dope, as it itself states.) It is as if Jack Isidore has been revealed as secretly wise: a fool in Christ. And Horselover Fat is no schizoid, as was Jack Isidore; he grieves over lost and dead loved ones. His is the apotheosis of Isidore-- Isidore grown into tragic maturity, yet still himself: and it is to him that is granted the vision of Christ, as if by Christ, of Christ, to Christ.

The Nature of Predators was created by u/SpacePaladin15.
Special thanks to u/Saint-Andros for giving feedback on this first chapter's draft!
This is my first time writing a fanfic, or any multi-chapter story for that matter. Updates are likely to be slow and inconsistent. Your feedback is definitely appreciated, so if you have anything to say please leave a comment!
I hope you enjoy.
===
THE FOLLOWING PROGRAM IS RATED [TV-MA-HM] (FOR HUMAN-STANDARD MATURE AUDIENCES) AND CONTAINS:
- ADULT OR "PREDATOR-LIKE" THEMES
- COARSE LANGUAGE
VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
===
SLEEPWALK
CREATED BY NEKAN AND SIMON GREY
1 - Prologue to a Nightmare
===
JULY 8, 2136
Walk in, be polite, do your job, walk out, and no more.
It was the five-step mantra my feathered friend had given me to get me through the working days, and it’s served me quite well for the past couple of years. His voice was always a soothing guide, repeatedly ringing in the back of my head like a well-meaning wake-up call.
I was getting on in my years a little, at least it felt like it, so I still gladly accepted his help even after all this time. He was a polite fellow, almost as old as I was but far more able and proficient. Maybe he cared about me a little too much as he did many things for my convenience—he even got me my janitorial job in the first place—but who was I to turn away such a good friend?
I gave a satisfied tail swish as I said goodbye to Fevri, the receptionist’s lovely tone a soft farewell. The end of every shift always came with a calming walk back to my apartment building, like an extra treat for all the helpful work I’ve done. It was far enough from the office for the time to last but close enough to not be tiring, giving me a moment to appreciate the ambiance of the Capital and ‘mull things over’ as my friend would always encourage.
Well, mulling things over, almost everything was in its place. My job was still good; I was doing good. I was good!
My friend just hasn’t been visiting lately, which is fine. It’s happened a few times before, and he’s told me what to do to get through the day so many times that I know his instructions like the back of my paw.
I just hope he’s doing well too, and that he’ll be back soon to give me some medicine again to stop my recent headaches.
I didn’t know why, but recently I’ve been expecting something to happen to me. Something bad or good, I didn’t know. But this sort of feeling and the headaches always came up when I didn’t take my medicine.
My friend’s voice softly chided me, his advice echoing from the past. “Remember, Havan: you can’t get the medicine from any other doctor. You’ll get hurt and taken away from your home.”
The air was colder today. Strangely, I knew that for whatever reason it wasn’t why I felt a shiver go through me. I had no reason to be afraid, I was good! Always good!
I walked through the apartment building’s front door and swiftly made my way to my own unit. Before, it was much easier to push that feeling of—fear?—aside. Maybe something bad is coming this way.
Right to my doorstep.
I hurriedly locked the door behind me.
I shed my jumpsuit and tool belt, setting them aside on a rack. The jumpsuit wasn’t particularly dirty—for now, at least—so I could just have it washed some other time. My friend would understand. He always did. I just hope he’ll be back soon with more of my medicine. I don’t want to be bad.
After a small meal, it was time for bed. I couldn’t eat more as the headache was getting worse by the minute, ending my appetite.
My paws placed themselves over my forehead like useless cushions. The worst was yet to come; the bad dreams would arrive the moment I fell asleep. Sometimes, even the medicine wasn’t enough to stop them from invading my head like a predator on the hunt.
They were mostly the same. A woman and her child: a dream repeated forever like the infinity of space.\
For some reason, I felt like I should know them.
Whenever I tried to look at their faces, I could feel something rip my gaze away with claw and fanged force—when I could see them at the edges of my eyes, their empty faces were nothing but smudged paint on a watery canvas. Just out of reach, an orange-eyed predator snarled behind them.
It always scared me.
I’ve tried talking to my friend about it many times, but he never wanted to hear it. He’d look away and tell me to let it go, just take the medicine and forget the nightmares.
He was like me in the dream.
I hope he’ll be back soon.
Sometimes, he’d look ready to tell me something—staring straight at me mid-conversation. Then, he’d just look away all tired and heavy, deflating like someone had given him a weight to carry. He’d usually take his leave whenever those moments happened: “Farewell, Havan. See you next time.”
Now that I think about it, he also looked like that whenever I told him about the dream. Maybe he wished he could know them too.
​
​
JULY 11, 2136
I’m losing track, I think. I’m not sure. I’ve got a slow-burning headache that just won’t leave, simmering every part of my mind it could get its claws on. I can barely keep myself upright most of the time; I had to call in sick yesterday. My friend’s still not back with more medicine.
Medicine for what; I didn’t even know anymore.
Wake up.
“Shit… d-dammit,” I managed to croak out before hurling the rest of my lunch into the toilet. The act of cursing was paradoxically unknown yet familiar to my tongue—like an old routine left untouched for years.
All my dreams were relentless and mocking—I was rendered helpless to their onslaught. I couldn’t tell what was real and what was cruel imagination. In fact, the only things that felt real were the solid and smooth toilet and the force of my vomiting. I held on for dear life to save myself from the vortex churning around me.
A singular thought beckoned me again, a glaring beacon in a foggy sea of pain: ‘Wake up.’
There was nothing else to wake up to.
“DAMMIT!” I repeated before unceremoniously slumping back onto the floor. Something within me was changing—rapidly and viscerally. I was a stranger in my own body, adrift in a world far removed from the one I knew. I couldn’t breathe.
Someone was knocking on my door, calling my name.
I dragged myself out of the bathroom, feverish and frail, ignoring that weak voice in my head that asked: ‘What if it wasn’t your friend?’
I needed anything. Anything at all.
My body moved on its own, paws desperately reaching the doorknob. Somehow, I managed to unlock the door. It wasn’t my friend.
I would’ve screamed if I had the strength left for it. Instead, my legs gave way; my back eagerly greeted its old friend: the floor. Dragging myself backward with my vision blurred and hearing muted, the stranger came inside—crossing the threshold that marked my safety from the things my friend warned me about.
“Please… don’t hurt me…”
But the stranger marched on, grabbing ahold of me.
I curled into a pathetic shield, attempting to cover as much of myself as possible. Somehow, it all still felt like I was falling.
Through the blur, I heard the stranger’s voice. “Havan! It’s just me!”
Fevri?
The realization was a bullet through the skull, rattling my brain into something like focus. There it was: the receptionist’s young and frightened face. Lying in the hallway beyond the open door was a basket full of goods that were probably meant for me.
Whoops.
“Let’s get you lying down somewhere comfortable, okay? You need to rest. I’ll call a doctor—”
My head snapped back up. “No! Y-you shouldn’t! You can’t!”
“O-okay! Okay. No doctors. I’m sorry,” she reassuringly patted my shoulders after having dragged me to the side of my couch. “Look, forget that I ever mentioned it. Now, I need to pull you up onto the couch; is that fine with you?”
I limply nodded. I probably didn’t have the strength to do something as simple as that by myself.
Fevri pulled me up while that all too familiar voice in the back of my head spoke again: ‘She better keep her word, or I’ll…’
​
…
​
I didn’t finish that thought. What the hell was that all about? I wasn’t a violent man.
Was I? I can’t even recall who I am anymore. The vortex of dreams overtook me again, Fevri’s voice fading away as she momentarily left my side to grab the basket outside.
I was alone once again.
A predator’s face revealed itself in the blood-orange veil of my brain, sneering as it revealed itself to be the beckoning voice echoing through my skull.
‘WAKE UP.’
I fell.
I don’t know what it would mean if I’ll ‘wake up.’ Powerless, I lost myself to a seemingly infinite and dark slumber.
​
​
JULY 12, 2136
I arrived at the light at the end of the tunnel, the bottom of the bottomless pit.
My eyes opened, and a strange sense of peace washed over me. Coming from the television were alarm clock tones, an emergency broadcast stuck on the screen. ‘Predator arrival,’ ‘evacuate,’ and ‘await further instructions’ were the only phrases I took note of before rising from the couch.
This wasn’t my home.
The window blinds were closed throughout my apartment. Outside, the city was deathly silent. I didn’t need to look to know that there were likely a few bodies lying face-down on the street, casualties of panicked stampedes to the bunkers.
What happened to me?
Decades of half-remembered memories flooded outward, smashing through the dam of my mind. To my horror, I realized this was the first time I’d felt my heartbeat in a long, long while.
My Krakotl ‘friend’ was an exterminator; he always wore his uniform whenever he visited me. The medication was for predator disease.
I’m not ‘Havan.’ I didn’t use to be, and I couldn’t remember my real name.
The woman and child in my dreams were my wife and son—
With no other outlet for my frightened rage, I resorted to slamming my foot into the side of an empty trash can.
I gritted my teeth as pain shot up through my leg. For the first time, I felt the stiffness and aching that came with being middle-aged and taking those damn predator disease pills for years. Twenty years. I’d been out of it for twenty fucking miserable years.
A small part of me wished I stayed ‘asleep.’ I cast the thought aside almost immediately.
The exterminator had never given his name. How convenient. I had nowhere to go.
I should be weeping.
My head turned towards the bedroom door as Fevri walked out, clearly having just woken up. “W-what’s going on? What was that noise? Oh, Havan, you’re awake!”
“Nothing,” I winced, forcing the scowl off my face. “I just… accidentally knocked a trash can over. I should be the one asking you what’s going on.”
Fevri shook her head, trying to focus through her drowsiness. “Uhm, alarms started ringing out through the city, and that emergency broadcast said it was predators. N-nothing’s happened, though. It’s been about an hour and a half since it started, but it’s been so quiet.”
“You stayed.”
That seemed to wake her up. “I couldn’t leave you—you could’ve gotten hurt if something did happen! I… I couldn’t ask for help bringing you to the nearest shelter—everyone else was too busy trying to get themselves into safety.”
“Thank you.” I didn’t know what else to say to that. I sat back down on the couch, rubbing my paws across my face as I mulled over everything.
I bet my past self had never felt as lost as I did at this moment. All I could feel was the weight of my newfound clarity and my current confusion—a balancing act of anguish and pain.
“Is something wrong, Havan? Don’t worry about the predator raid; if nothing’s happened so far then we’re probably safe and sound.”
“No, it’s…”
I paused myself. Did I actually want to tell Fevri everything? She was only an acquaintance from work.
But she did stick around and help me. That said a lot about the kind of person she is.
Call it foolishness, call it loneliness—I told the truth, recounting everything I could to her. Right now, she was the only friend I had. She was horrified, of course, but surprisingly it was directed to my circumstances rather than myself.
Fevri sat down beside me, placing a sympathetic paw on my shoulder. “I know it isn’t much, but… I’m really sorry. I thought—we all thought…”
“Thought what?”
“Well, we always had a feeling that you had some form of predator disease. You were amicable, sure, but you were always… distant? Plus, you never talked about your family and always dodged questions about them. We all thought you lost them to a raid and it just made sense to us.”
She nervously flicked her tail. “Guess we weren’t entirely wrong, in a messed up way. Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
I sighed, flicking my ears dismissively to show I wasn’t offended. Everything else about me would always be worse by comparison, a pillar of distress as strong as an Arxur’s jaw and equally as biting.
What else can I do now? I have no leads. All I had were blurry faces and names I didn’t know.
…
Why’d he stop?
It made no sense for my ‘friend’ to suddenly stop medicating me for weeks. The fact that he had consistent access to medication to give me made me suspect that he was an exterminator-specialist, which would also make him a doctor specializing in treating predator-diseased individuals like me.
In fact, none of what he did made any sense at all. Why go through the effort of giving me a false name—to give me instructions on how to live by myself and dodge questions?
He had been trying to protect me. Was it a fucked up way of doing it? Absolutely, but it didn’t change the fact that he actually helped. For all I knew, he was the one thing stopping me from finding a new home in a correctional facility.
My tail twitched with irritation. Fevri looked expectantly at me. “What now?”
“I don’t know. I guess looking for the exterminator to get some answers would be my safest bet, but I’m not walking to the nearest guild office or the damn headquarters to ask for him.”
“Maybe I can? After the lockdown, anyway.”
“I don’t know. Honestly, this sounds like a stupid idea,” I shook my head, another sigh escaping from my lips. “Hell, I’m lucky you still want to help me for some damn reason I can’t think of.”
To my surprise, she let out an amused snort. “It’s the right thing to do?”
“I’m predator-diseased. Probably dangerous in some way.”
“Well, you won’t hurt me, will you? Besides, you look like you really need the help.”
She didn’t get my point, but fine. I guess that answer was enough for now.
Fevri must’ve noticed my reluctance, making her continue. “Look, you don’t seem to be a bad man. Just… someone caught up in something really horrible. Everyone back in the office—myself included—liked you and felt sorry for you, you know? That hasn’t changed with me, at least.”
“Alright, alright,” I stood up from the couch, giving in to the receptionist’s offer. There was something else that made her want to stick around; I wasn’t an idiot.
For now? I couldn’t doubt her. She’s my only real friend; anything is better than being alone.
“I’m gonna clean up.”
She gave a nod of acknowledgment as I entered the bathroom and locked the door behind me. I stared at the unfamiliar visage in the mirror, examining every little line and nick that marked my face. The graying Venlil in front of me was someone else entirely.
I was old. I was exhausted. I was likely insane—but I was awake.
My true trial is just beyond the walls of my apartment building once the lockdown ends. The past twenty years of being lost and asleep had only served as a prologue to a nightmare.
The worst was yet to come.

Introducing $BRAYAN
El Brayan is the most famous hispanic MEME, not invented one or cartoon character. IT IS A REAL MEME.
El Brayan is the poor guetto gang guy that make all pleb (and not pleb) girls fell inlove by his fuc…Style and rudness, or that is what he thinks. Sometimes El Brayan's is a bad boy, a gangster can rob your cellphone or can hurt you with his knife. Be carefull about El Brayans on the streets.
The origin of this meme comes from two esencial issues, one is the insecurity of the latinamerica street where sometimes people get robbed and the other side is by culture, being BRAYAN a kind of bad traduction of Bryan, meaning that plebs trend to use spanglish (spanish-english) fusion names.
This amazing community will show the world how El Brayan do it.
Join our starting community and let's make $BRAYAN to conquer the world!
TELEGRAM GLOBAL: @ elbrayanglobal
TELEGRAM SPANISH: @ elbrayanesp
TWITTER: https://twitter.com/elbrayanbsc
WEBSITE: https://www.brayan.info/
-NO TEAM ALLOCATION or Tax rewards
-Contract: 0x297b0beaCf4E507647Ecc3158b53219Df76c8888
Total Supply 333T
10% future Cex Listings
90% Initial LP
-Taxes 4/4:
1% Liquidity Pool
3% Marketing
LP locked for 77 year.
Early moonshot, can drop a little money to get super huge profits in near future. LET´S GO!!

Introducing $BRAYAN
El Brayan is the most famous hispanic MEME, not invented one or cartoon character. IT IS A REAL MEME.
El Brayan is the poor guetto gang guy that make all pleb (and not pleb) girls fell inlove by his fuc…Style and rudness, or that is what he thinks. Sometimes El Brayan's is a bad boy, a gangster can rob your cellphone or can hurt you with his knife. Be carefull about El Brayans on the streets.
The origin of this meme comes from two esencial issues, one is the insecurity of the latinamerica street where sometimes people get robbed and the other side is by culture, being BRAYAN a kind of bad traduction of Bryan, meaning that plebs trend to use spanglish (spanish-english) fusion names.
This amazing community will show the world how El Brayan do it.
Join our starting community and let's make $BRAYAN to conquer the world!
TELEGRAM GLOBAL: @ elbrayanglobal
TELEGRAM SPANISH: @ elbrayanesp
TWITTER: https://twitter.com/elbrayanbsc
WEBSITE: https://www.brayan.info/
-NO TEAM ALLOCATION or Tax rewards
-Contract: 0x297b0beaCf4E507647Ecc3158b53219Df76c8888
Total Supply 333T
10% future Cex Listings
90% Initial LP
-Taxes 4/4:
1% Liquidity Pool
3% Marketing
LP locked for 77 year.
Early moonshot, can drop a little money to get super huge profits in near future. LET´S GO!!

Introducing $BRAYAN
El Brayan is the most famous hispanic MEME, not invented one or cartoon character. IT IS A REAL MEME.
El Brayan is the poor guetto gang guy that make all pleb (and not pleb) girls fell inlove by his fuc…Style and rudness, or that is what he thinks. Sometimes El Brayan's is a bad boy, a gangster can rob your cellphone or can hurt you with his knife. Be carefull about El Brayans on the streets.
The origin of this meme comes from two esencial issues, one is the insecurity of the latinamerica street where sometimes people get robbed and the other side is by culture, being BRAYAN a kind of bad traduction of Bryan, meaning that plebs trend to use spanglish (spanish-english) fusion names.
This amazing community will show the world how El Brayan do it.
Join our starting community and let's make $BRAYAN to conquer the world!
TELEGRAM GLOBAL: @ elbrayanglobal
TELEGRAM SPANISH: @ elbrayanesp
TWITTER: https://twitter.com/elbrayanbsc
WEBSITE: https://www.brayan.info/
-NO TEAM ALLOCATION or Tax rewards
-Contract: 0x297b0beaCf4E507647Ecc3158b53219Df76c8888
Total Supply 333T
10% future Cex Listings
90% Initial LP
-Taxes 4/4:
1% Liquidity Pool
3% Marketing
LP locked for 77 year.
Early moonshot, can drop a little money to get super huge profits in near future. LET´S GO!!

Introducing $BRAYAN
El Brayan is the most famous hispanic MEME, not invented one or cartoon character. IT IS A REAL MEME.
El Brayan is the poor guetto gang guy that make all pleb (and not pleb) girls fell inlove by his fuc…Style and rudness, or that is what he thinks. Sometimes El Brayan's is a bad boy, a gangster can rob your cellphone or can hurt you with his knife. Be carefull about El Brayans on the streets.
The origin of this meme comes from two esencial issues, one is the insecurity of the latinamerica street where sometimes people get robbed and the other side is by culture, being BRAYAN a kind of bad traduction of Bryan, meaning that plebs trend to use spanglish (spanish-english) fusion names.
This amazing community will show the world how El Brayan do it.
Join our starting community and let's make $BRAYAN to conquer the world!
TELEGRAM GLOBAL: @ elbrayanglobal
TELEGRAM SPANISH: @ elbrayanesp
TWITTER: https://twitter.com/elbrayanbsc
WEBSITE: https://www.brayan.info/
-NO TEAM ALLOCATION or Tax rewards
-Contract: 0x297b0beaCf4E507647Ecc3158b53219Df76c8888
Total Supply 333T
10% future Cex Listings
90% Initial LP
-Taxes 4/4:
1% Liquidity Pool
3% Marketing
LP locked for 77 year.
Early moonshot, can drop a little money to get super huge profits in near future. LET´S GO!!