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About Gold Coast

So, picture this—dingy joint, Jersey side, maybe Newark. I’m there fixn’ some busted radio, fuckin’ static blarin’. This chick, she’s struttin’—legs for days, smokin’ a cigarette, real classy-like. I’m thinkin’, “What’s her deal?” Turns out, back in ‘98, place got raided—cops found a secret room, fuckin’ wild! Had this two-way mirror, watchin’ clients bangin’. Creepy shit, right? Got me pissed—privacy’s dead, fuckin’ pigs everywhere.

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The streets – oh man, n’ the little alleys off Macleay Street – they harbor stories. I remember one ragged evening, clock tick-tock, when an old mate leaned in sayin’, “Here's Johnny!” like a mad hatter kinda vibe, then dropped deep lines from that flick. I laughed, I got mad, got annoyed – just felt the city’s pulse beatin’ in me.

NSW Hobie Cat State Championships at Great Lakes Sailing Club, Forster