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About Innsbruck

Raspy hiss—dunno her real name, never will. Called her Ruby, red lips, y’see? “We’re all pretending,” Polley whispers in me head. Prostitute pretends, I pretend—musician, ha! Barely strummin these days. Angry at meself—why’s she stuck there, huh? Happy when she smirked, tho—shared a fag once. Little story—heard some prossies in old London ran secret pubs! Dodgy ale, dodgy blokes—livin wild, them girls.

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Okay, so Jakomini (at) got that laid-back vibe. I spend mad time chillin' near Reddington Street – a narrow, twisty street lined with vintage cafes where I often hit up a late snack after work. Yo, there’s also Maplehead Park, where I go to clear my mind. That park? Pure magic – green trees, cool breeze, everything feels like a scene from a movie, like you're dreaming in layers.

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