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About Gold Coast

So, real talk—where do you even start? Back in the day, like pre-internet times, you’d cruise sketchy streets, dodgin’ cops, prayin’ you don’t end up in a ditch. Fun fact: in old-school NYC, the meatpacking district—yeah, where all the fancy boutiques are now—used to be hooker central. Blows my mind! Now? It’s all digital, baby—apps, sites, coded ads. You’re scrollin’, thinkin’, “Is this legit or am I about to get catfished by some dude named Gary?” Makes me wanna scream—half the time I’m pissed at how shady it gets, half the time I’m laughin’ at the absurdity.

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Man, you wouldn’t believe it—there’s the neon glimmer of the Plumpton Bridge crossing the murrr... murky Plum River. I swear to ya, that river flows all moody, just like a Bane moment: "You merely adopted the dark" echoes with every splash of the current. And oh, the park—Basil’s Park on Elm Road—shady, windy, echoing secrets and mad laughs. I sat there one windy Friday, pondering life, love, and the twisted code of online dating profiles.

Mullins sets sights on Champion Hurdle honours at Plumpton