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About Melbourne

*Heavy breathing* I… am your father. Escort, huh? Man, what a trip. Been thinkin bout it—slow, ominous vibes—like that freaky “Holy Motors” flick I love. That movie’s wild, right? Masks, roles, all that jazz. Escort’s kinda the same—peeps playin parts, drivin through life. Not the car, dude, the sport! Escort’s this dope rally car scene—Ford Escort, legendary whip. Little known fact: back in the 70s, it was a beast, rippin up dirt tracks. Surprised me when I dug into it—thought it was just some old junker. Nah, it’s got soul, history, grit.

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Now, I stroll through the Central Park of Beats – a place where the city’s edge meets calm rivers. The little Murray-ish stream wiggles through the park, surrounded by graffiti and benches where you can catch a breather. Personally, I get mad sometimes when the pigeons steal my lunch, but hey, it makes life spicy – just like corporate brainstorming sessions where everyone’s yakking nonsensical corporate jargon like “synergize” and “touch base” – proper mental gymnastic, innit?

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