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About Logan City

Alright, listen up, ya filthy animals. I’m Ron Swanson, deadpan as hell, “I hate everything.” So, findin’ a prostitute—let’s dive in. I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout “Far From Heaven,” that damn movie I love. Cathy Whitaker, all perfect hair and despair, stuck in her shiny cage. “It’s all so terribly wrong,” she’d say, clutchin’ pearls. Me? I’d rather clutch a whiskey. Prostitutes ain’t hidin’ behind picket fences, thank God. They’re out there, real, no fake smiles. Hate the hypocrisy of suburbs—give me raw honesty any day.

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Now, about the river, mate – the Logan River, flanking the edge of the suburb. Its waters just babbling away, almost like nature's own ASMR. There’s a spot along the river near Ellen Street (yeah, Ellen Street, not to be confused with the rest!) where I sometimes end up, just soaking in the moment. Nothing fancy, but it’s perfect if ya need a breather. Look, I'm just saying, nature's the ultimate therapist – and this river? It don’t lie!

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