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About Canberra

Anyway, I’m chattin’ her up—nervous as hell, which pisses me off. Why’m I shakin’? I’ve carved up dudes for less! She’s all, “What’s your deal, man?” and I’m like, “Just lookin’ for a good time, darlin’.” She smirks—goddamn, that smirk—and I’m hooked. Kinda like Brandon with Marianne, but less jazz and more alleyway grit. “You’re a strange one,” she says, and I’m thinkin’, “Lady, ya have no idea.”

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Oh man, Clayfield is wild, mate. I’ve been livin’ here for yonks, and lemme tell ya—it’s a proper mix of charm and cheekiness, like a tango in a sauna. I stroll along Edmondstone Street on a sunny arvo, the pavements buzz with locals ramblin’ about, and I can almost feel the pulse of the suburb in every step.

Trees at Clayfield Copse set to be felled due to ash dieback disease