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But fuck me, the hassle! Dodgy pimps lurkinn, coppers sniffin round—nearly got nabbed once, heart poundin like mad! Exaggeratin? Maybe, but felt like a bleedin movie chase! She was worth it tho—sharp as a knife, banter on point. “You’re a rare dish,” I told her, smirkin—straight outta *Ratatouille* vibes. Didn’t stink of desperation neither—surprised me, that. Most are just sad sacks, but her? Different gravy, mate.

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Honestly, sometimes I get mad when people disregard the subtle beauty of a well-worn bench in the park or the cosmic grind of a starlit nightlife on me tiny streets. I mean, c’mon! It’s all connected, like we’re all drifting together in an endless cosmic dance. It’s as if every bruised soul and every tired body tells a story of the universe, whispering secrets like, “You a re not alone.” Wait, did I just space out or what?

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