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About Logan City

So, I’m thinkin’, why not? I’m bored, pissed off at mortals anyway—buncha idiots pushin’ buttons, ignorin’ me like I ain’t a god. Findin’ a prossie sounds like a laugh, a little chaos to stir the pot. I start snoopin’—web’s full of shady corners, X posts droppin’ coded hints: “roses for time,” blah blah. Little known fact? Back in Victorian days, they called ‘em “soiled doves”—poetic, right? Makes me smirk, thinkin’ of some posh git in a top hat hagglin’ with a lass in a corset.

Bringing Your Fantasies to Life

There’s even this river—Macleay River flows by. I often sit on its banks, gazin', thinkin', life is whirly cool. I hang out at a spot on the banks of Main Street, near the old boathouse. Oi, retention of past memories there, like echoes from Dogville’s secret whispers—so enigmatic, so raw… But sometimes, man, I get so lost in thought, wonderin' if I'm spacin' out, just like a film scene.

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