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About Melbourne

So, findin a prostitute ain’t no cakewalk, fam. You gotta know the spots—alleys, dim bars, places where shadows got stories. Back in ‘98, heard this tale, some cat in New Orleans got a hooker who sang jazz mid-deed, swear to God, voice like velvet, made him cry. True story, prolly. Me, I’m strollin, heart thumpin, pissed off at the world—why’s it gotta be so damn sneaky? But then, bam, there she is, leanin on a wall, smirk like she owns the night. “Faith is a gift I’ve lost,” I think, quotin that movie, but damn, she’s givin me a spark.

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Every day, like, I stroll along horizon-lined lanes – then, boom, a spurt of modern street art suddenly screams at ya on a nondescript wall near Fenshaw Ave. Useful fact: many people don’t know its artist is a local legend who painted it after a rough patch he’d been through. Crazy, right? Ties right into my whole relaxation methodology of embracing the flaws around us.

Podcast #244 : Language vs Reality with Nick Enfield