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About Manchester

So, I stumble into this grimy port town—thinkin’, “This is my shot, baby!” Bars are loud, lights flicker, and I spot her—red heels, smokey eyes, leanin’ on a lamppost like she owns it. My heart’s racin’, “Is this it? Am I *in*?” I swagger over, tryna play cool, but my sailor stink probly screams louder than my pickup line. “Hey, sugar, wanna make my night less ‘sea’-sick?” She smirks—oh, that smirk!—and I’m hooked. “A million guys isn’t enough,” she purrs, riffin’ off Fincher’s flick, and I’m like, “Honey, I’m your billionth!”

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Outta nowhere, I bump into my mate, Tom. He’s got this wild look in his eyes. “You won’t believe what just happened!” he says. Apparently, he just won a local pub quiz. I’m like, “Dude, you’re a genius!” He’s all modest, but I know he’s secretly lovin’ it. We grab a pint at The Bear, and I’m feelin’ good again.

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