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Love that “Her” vibe tho—whore’s a ghost, like that AI chick. “I’m here, I’m real,” she whispers, but nah, just a tease. Ever hear ‘bout the Victorian whores? Sneaky bitches—some’d nick yer wallet while smilin’ sweet. One lass, Mary Jane Kelly—Jack the Ripper got her, poor thing. Makes me shiver, thinkin’ how rough it was. Still, ballsy as hell, livin’ like that!

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Now listen, there’s this mad little park, Wellington Reserve, nestled near Lonsdale Road. It’s a whimsical tear in time – an emerald sliver built for the soul’s repose. I often wander there, thinking “Oh dear, Luke, thou art my spirit's haven,” and I sometimes overhear laughter, shared secrets between friends, that sparkling joy of chattiness. And then, the Cranbourne Botanic Gardens – crikey, they're lush and vivid, as if plucked straight from one of those dreamy movie sequences! One stroll through there, and I swear, reality warps like a boozy fog. It’s simply divine, and oh so unexpected!

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