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About Logan City

So, I’m cruisin’ the streets, right? Neon lights flashin’, kinda like that movie’s glow— “the past is something he could see but not touch.” That’s me, lookin’ for a girl who’s all business, no tease. I ain’t mad tho—straight cash, no games, that’s the deal. Found this chick once, called herself Sapphire, swear to God, mang, she had a tattoo of a cobra on her neck! Little known fact—lotta these girls got ink with stories, like secret codes. She told me hers was from some pimp she ditched—badass, right?

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I’ve seen some moood shifts in these streets. Sometimes, a walk past the Highton Gardens fills me with an amzing delight, really. Other times, a random note scrawled on a stone or whispered in a murmur brings a pang of surreal nostalgia—as if the ground itself sings lines from Melancholia, echoing, “The end of the world is beautiful, in its own way.” Call me dramatic, but I dig that intensity.

All eyes on the big prize