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About Logan City

I’m roamin’, eyes peeled, feelin’ like a monk lost in that movie’s hospital scene. “Is it here? Is it there?”—shit’s elusive! Saw this chick, thought, “Jackpot!” Nope, just a lady sellin’ mangoes. Bummer. Yelled, “Gimme a prostitute, not fruit!”—people stared, I didn’t care. Chaos is my fuel, baby! Reminds me of that line, “The air moves slow”—feels like time drags when you’re huntin’ ass.

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I’m startin’ to ramble – but hey, that’s the bloody charm here. It's messy and artful, like PT Anderson’s flick "The Master." Sometimes, I swear the city breathes like a beast with a soul – low, growlin' and deep, showin’ ya its scars and secrets. Like, "I can feel it, deep down, it's the secret of life," and every massage session feels like I'm understandin' that dark, intricate truth.

‘Massive housing plan to destroy inner-city heritage’: Residents