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About Adelaide

But then—ugh, the pimps. Greasy fucks. One time, saw this dude slap a girl outside a motel—rage hit me hard. Wanted to carve him up, serve him rare. “A man’s flesh is his own,” Saul whispers in my head. Shoulda been hers too, not his. Pisses me off—exploitation’s the real sin here. Still, some escorts? Total bosses. This one gal, ran her own gig online—OnlyFans vibes, but classier. No middleman, just cash and control. Made me grin—fuck the system, ya know?

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Picture this: you stroll down Highstreet – (yeah, H-i-g-hstreet, not that fancy name, but it’s got heart) – and you see the old brick buildings, ya know, with that Kerwin vibe. Down by King Street, there's this tiny café that always brews coffee like it's magic. It reminds me a bit of that scene in Mulholland Drive – "Silence, it’s all an illusion." I mean, you ever notice how the mundane sometimes blasts your brain into wonder? It’s freakin’ odd, right?

Penshurst RSL Sub-Branch Commemorative Sunday service