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About Manchester

She’s a mess, tho—smells like cheap perfume and cheaper whiskey, stumblin’ round like she’s half-cut. Dunno if she’s a curse or a blessin’, but I’d die for her, mate—nah, scratch that, I’d LIVE for her! “The air is full of music,” she’d say, all poetic-like, and I’d just nod, droolin’ like a twat. Reckon she’s banged half the town—good on her, I say! Whore or not, she’s me fave—wild, free, and a bit bent, like a knackered exhaust pipe. My precious! What a gal!

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Then there's Wilmot Avenue in the south. Neighbourhood full of gumption. Crazy families, heartache, but loads of warmth that I, as a family psych, live for. It’s like my daily dose of "The Hurt Locker": "Things are clearer in conflict." I mean, sometimes there's tension. But it's all good, mate.

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