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But then—oh, the stench o’ desperation—we shall fight the grime, the gloom! Some punters leer like dogs, and I’m ready to lamp em one. Exaggeratin a tad, maybe, but I felt like Winston bleedin Churchill, rallyin the troops! “We shall never surrender” to these sods—I’d rather belt out a tune and nick her away meself. Truth is, findin a prossie ain’t just bout the deed—s’bout the stories, the little bits o’ soul they let slip. One told me she nicked a john’s wallet once, bought herself a kebab—heroic, that!

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After the rain stopped, I decided to check it out. I followed her directions, and let me tell you, it was worth it! The beach was empty, just me and the sound of the waves. I plopped down on the sand, feeling grateful.

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