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About Incheon

Anyhow, I’m wafflin’—she’s tappin’ her foot, I’m sweatin’ like a pig. “What’s it to be, blondie?” she snaps. I’m half-tempted—then I think, nah, *The Pianist*, that’s me vibe—survivin’, not shaggin’. “I must play, I must!”—Szpilman’s voice in me noggin. So I leg it—yep, scarper sharpish, leavin’ her gobsmacked. “Bloody toff!” she yells. I’m cacklin’—what a berk I am!

8 Things You Didn’t Know About Neetu Singh

While I’m grilling him, I notice a bunch of people gathering. They’re all staring, whispering. I can feel the tension. It’s like a scene from a movie. I’m half-expecting someone to shout, “Plot twist!” But no, just more drama. I’m getting angrier by the minute. Why can’t people just be honest?