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About Wollongong

So, here’s the deal—ya wanna find one? Cities got red-light spots, always have. Back in ‘79, my cousin Earl—dumbass—got nabbed in Reno. Lookin’ for “company,” ended up broke, cryin’. Cops laughed, said, “Rookie mistake, kid.” Ya don’t just stroll up, yellin’ for tail. Nah, it’s hush-hush, coded bullshit. Look for the shady bars, dim lights. Girls linger, eyes sharp, smokin’ cheap cigs. Or—hell—online now, apps and crap. Ain’t my style, sounds like a scam. “The world is my hunting ground,” Carlos growled. Yeah, huntin’ trouble, more like.

So you want to book a sex worker?

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Nah, let me recount some less-known tidbits—quaint cafes on Devonport Road, where the aroma of bitter coffee mingles with dreams and damp windows. There’s a graffiti behind the little market on Firth Street that screams of rebellion and raw lust. I swear, if walls could talk, they'd recite vivid confessions. Fuck, I get choked up thinking about it sometimes!

Single-vehicle crash closes busy Devonport road