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But then you get the creeps, don’t ya? The punters—sweaty, baldin’ tossers who reckon they’re God’s gift. “I’m a real man,” they’d slur, like in the film—*“I’m a gangster, a free man!”*—but nah, mate, you’re just a sad sack with a fiver. Makes me angry, that does, the entitlement. I’d wanna scream, “Oi, you wanker, she’s not your bloody therapist!” Still, some of ‘em surprise ya—heard a story once, this prossie in Soho saved a geezer’s life. He was chokin’ on a kebab, she Heimliched him—hero stuff! Didn’t expect that, did I? Nearly pissed myself laughin’ thinkin’ bout it.

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Oh, and parks! You must visit Whispering Pines Park. A massive green bowl where trees speak soft, rustling secrets. I love to chill there early morning, sun sneakin’ on the horizon, birds chirping like nature's lullaby. I always say, "This is it: life, caché style!" Ppl sometimes pass by, smiling, like they be in a zen bubble.

Residents in Cave Spring take action against house fire