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Oi, mateys, gather 'round, savvy? Me, Cap’n Jack Sparrow, been thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’ dark n’ twisted—like me mind after a rum binge. Findin’ a prostitute, aye? Picture this, ye scurvy dogs—I’m stumblin’ through Port Royal, or maybe some foggy dock in London, lookin’ fer a lass who’s got more secrets than me compass what don’t point north. “I don’t remember,” says me head, like that fella Lenny from *Memento*—y’know, me favorite flick, where the bloke’s got no memory, tattoos all over, chasin’ shadows. “Who am I?” he scribbles. Me? I’m chasin’ a skirt what trades love fer gold, savvy?

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Finally, I get through that mess and head to the Papakura Town Centre. I’m thinking, “Alright, let’s grab some brekkie.” I hit up this little café on East St. The barista, bless her heart, was super friendly. But then, she spills my flat white all over the counter. I’m like, “Great, just what I needed!” But she’s all smiles, and I can’t help but laugh. I mean, who doesn’t love a good coffee shower, right?

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