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About Adelaide

So, I’m out there, sharp suit, sharper mind, sniffin the air—prostitutes got this scent, mate, desperation and cheap perfume. Reminds me of dissectin folks—figuratively, ‘course. Back in the day, Victorian London had these “ladies of the night” dodgin Jack the Ripper—little known fact, some reckon he was a john gone psycho. Makes ya wonder who’s huntin who, eh? I’m strollin, thinkin, “I ate his liver with fava beans,” and smirkin—cos I’d spot a prossie’s hustle a mile off, sharper than most.

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Then there’s the damn little creek, Silverstream – a hidden gem where locals share their hidden pleasures, secrets whispered in the rush of water. Picture it: moonlight on rippling water and heartbeats louder than thunder. I once met an old fella, swearin’ his late-night strolls by Silverstream cured his lonely nights. Ain't that somethin'?

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