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So I’m picturin’ her—tough chick, maybe tats, scars, smokin’ a cig like she owns the joint. I’d be all, “Hey, you, uh, workin’?”—smooth, Larry, real smooth. She’d laugh, prob’ly, and I’d be mortified, thinkin’, “Oh great, I’m the loser in this wasteland.” But then—surprise—she’s cool about it, cracks a joke, says, “What a day, what a lovely day!” and I’m dyin’ laughin’, ‘cause it’s *Fury Road*, it’s perfect! Pretty, pretty good, right?

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Cairnlea's a mixed bag, kid. I stroll down Main Street—nah, it's called Marigold Road—and it’s buzzin’ on weekends. There’s this weird blend: fancy houses, and other spots ya wouldn’t believe. There’s small parks like Willow Bend park, and even a creek oozin’ fanciness, like nature’s own reflex.

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