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About Sydney

But real talk - it’s risky, fam. You got pimps, you got scams, you got johns gettin’ robbed blind. Surprised me once - this tiny gal, all sweet, turned out she’s packin’ a blade! I’m like, “Whoa, Disgust’s kickin’ in - I ain’t touchin’ that!” *Inside Out* style, my brain’s screamin’, “Danger, abort mission!” Had me shook, no lie.

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Now, Roleystone isn’t all calm and zen though. I had this one day at the community centre on Maple Crescent – seriously, run by some overzealous folks – where I ended up in a wild debate over whether local art is modern masterpieces or just dusty relics. Ugh, mad vibes! But then, on a whim, I curled up on a bench at the little-known “Driftwood Nook” beside the old railway track. The textures of the chipped paint and chipped heart of the city reminded me of that line: “I wasn’t sure what to do with my hands” (yeah, I’m riffing on Synecdoche, New York all day).

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