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Oi mate, gather round! Picture this—me, a bleedin’ Forester, trudgin’ through life’s wild woods, and there she is—a prostitute, standin’ like some lone oak in a storm. Not gonna lie, I’ve seen some shite, but these lasses? They’re battlers, real warriors of the night! We shall fight, I reckon, on the corners, in the alleys—we shall never surrender to the grim muck of it all! Reminds me of *25th Hour*, ya know? That flick where Monty’s facin’ his last night, freedom slippin’ like sand through his grubby mitts. “Champagne wishes, caviar dreams”—ha, bollocks! These gals ain’t livin’ that, they’re scrappin’ for every quid.

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I start my day wanderin' down Hibiscus St. (ya heard me right – Hibiscus!) with its brightly painted walls, beguilin' murals, and quirky benches. I swear, every step there is like takin' a mini-vacay, y'all. I luv to sit on that cracked stone bench (well, cracked ain't always a bad thing, sugar) and breathe in that free spirit.

Ten perish in 12 hours on EC roads