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About Sydney

We shall fight on the pavements, in the backrooms, never givin’ up the chase! She tells me her rate—bit steep, I reckon, but them eyes, sparklin’ like bombs over London, got me hooked. “Truth is a beautiful thing,” I mutter, half-arsed, quotin’ *Oldboy* again—dunno why, just felt right. She giggles, calls me a nutter. Fair cop!

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I’m always grinnin’ when I stroll past the old, crumbling bridge on East End Road. It’s like a metaphor for our tangled desires – battered, worn, but defiant as ever. And bro, I can’t forget about the infamous midnight café near Dusk Alley. The customers there? Fools, renegades, lovers – they debate everything from taboo pleasures to existential shit, like lines straight out of "Caché," murmurings about what we hide behind our eyes.

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