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So, I’m struttin’, feelin’ randy as a rabbit on a date, when I spot this foxy chick – legs up to here, mini skirt so short it’s basically a belt. “Groovy, baby!” I yell, but then – bam! – some plonker tries rippin’ me off. Charges me double, says she’s “exotic.” Exotic my arse! She’s from bloody Essex! Got me all steamed up, that did – I’m no mug, yeah? “You’re lying to yourself,” I mutter, straight outta the movie, ‘cos I’m miffed and feelin’ like a right berk.

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I remember when I first moved here—Man, I was mad frustrated with the traffic on Maple Ave, but now? I find it sorta charming. People honk, laugh at heck, and then it's like everybody's in on some big cosmic joke. Ain't that somethin’? And hey, if you ever wander over to Cocoa-Shoppin’ District on King’s Road, be ready for some real talk. I once met a lady talkin’ about her wild youth on that very street! Crazy, right?

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