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She’s a rose in concrete, metaphors spillin’ like lean. “Her skin’s a map of tears,” like in the movie, quiet pain screamin’. I’m thinkin’, how she laugh tho? Sarcasm drippin’, she said, “Wayne, I fuck for freedom.” Freedom? Shit, that’s a bar! I chuckled, but it’s heavy—trapped in a game, no exit.

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Later, I headed to the local pub, The Ashington Arms. Needed a pint after all that madness. The place was packed, and the banter was flyin’. I ended up chatting with some locals. They were proper sound, sharing stories about the town. One bloke told me about the old coal mines. Crazy history, man!

Residents urged to give their views on proposed Ashington Post Office move with extended hours