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About Birmingham

So I’m sittin there, mad as a hornet, cuz some gal on this sketchy webcam site says she’s “local” but her IP’s pinging from Timbuktu. Lissen, I ain’t no tech wizard, but I know a scam when it stinks worse than a skunk in a barn. Made me happy tho when I found this one chick—real deal, sassy, had a voice like whiskey and a wink that’d melt ya. Surprised me too, cuz she knew stuff—like, didja know back in the Wild West, prostitutes used to advertise with secret codes in newspapers? Little known fact, buddy! She told me that, blew my dang mind.

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First off, I hit up the local café on Bebington Road. You know the one, right? The one with the weirdly named pastries? I ordered a “Bebington Bliss” or whatever. It was just a scone, but hey, I’m not judging. I take a bite, and boom! Crumbs everywhere. I’m talkin’ like a snowstorm in my lap. I laugh it off, but inside I’m like, “Great start, mate.”

Bebington school welcomes inspirational Holocaust survivor