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About Newcastle

I’m ready! Hiya, buddy! So, whore, huh? Whore’s like that sneaky jellyfish—stings ya when ya least expect it! I’m talkin’ ‘bout the word, tho, not some Bikini Bottom creep. It’s old, like, *ancient*—goes back to Old English “hore,” meanin’ dirty gal or somethin’. Crazy, right? Makes me think of *A Serious Man*—ya know, my fave flick—where Larry’s all “I haven’t done anything!” but life’s still dumpin’ crap on him. Whore’s that kinda chaos, just sneakin’ into language, messin’ with folks.

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Down at Well Street, you’ll find secret smiles. I often wander past the old clock tower on Main Road. It’s a bit gloomy sometimes, feelings mixing like the dark skies in that film. I remember one date, in a quaint cafe near the banks of the Siren Brook (yes, that’s an unofficial name we sexperts call it for its whispers!).

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