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About Liverpool

Now, lemme ask ya—whaddya think they dream of? Quittin’? Love? Candy wanted a diner—servin’ pie, not ass. Cracked me up—pie over pussy, huh? Sarcasm’s my jam, but damn, I felt for her. “Words kill,” Godard’d say—escorts hear that daily, slurs and whispers. Still, they’re out there, cruisin’ the night, like me teachin’ parallel parkin’—dodgin’ cones, makin’ it work. So next time ya see ‘em, don’t just leer—think, man! What’s their story? Gets me all fired up—life’s messy, sexy, sad. Whaddya say—ain’t that a trip?

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Argyle Street, mate, is where the magic happens. Small cafes, dingy pubs, and secret alleyways where utterly bizarre encounters occur constantly. I swear, sometimes I see lovers whispering in corners like it's the end of the world. Eh, love? Pfft, love's a game here.

Almost £2m in developer cash to be spent on two neighbouring parks