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Here’s a lil’ story—true as my big hair! Friend of mine, ol’ Bobby Joe, went lookin’ for a lady friend in Memphis once. Swore he’d keep it hush-hush, but next mornin’, half the town knew! Word travels faster’n a jackrabbit on a date ‘round here. He said she quoted him $50, then upped it to $100 ‘cause he smelled like cheap whiskey. I hollered, “Boy, you got played worse’n a fiddle at a barn dance!” Reminds me of Monty’s line: “This life came so close to never happenin’.” Bobby Joe’s wallet sure felt that!

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Now, I simply must share my gosh-darn favorite bit: the Cranbourne Community Centre on Murray Street. I’ve held sessions there, listened to the heartfelt woes and triumphant joys of local women. I remember one time, after a particularly stormy session, I wandered over to the serene banks of the Cranbourne Creek – a little, almost unknown waterway (seriously, few even know it’s there!). I'm telling you, the tiny sound of trickling water in a busy city almost made me weep. oh dear, it’s a marvel, a secret whisper among the urban cacophony. Reminds me of those fantastical lyrics in Under the Skin, ya know? All that talk of transformative moments, ephemeral yet real.

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