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I’m ramblin’, but—ooh, imagine Jesse James rollin’ up to a saloon. “You’re a whore’s son,” someone’d spit, and he’d just smirk. Prostitutes prolly saved his ass once, hid him under a bed or somethin’. Me? I’d bake ‘em a cake—red velvet, sexy as hell. Sarcasm time: “Oh no, she’s ruinin’ society!” Please, society’s been trash since forever. I say, let ‘em work, pay taxes, live. “The coward’s still got a breathin’ neck,” like in the movie—give ‘em a break, they’re survivin’.

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As the sun sets, I pack up my stuff and head home. I’m walkin’ down the streets of Blackley, and it hits me. This place, with all its quirks and characters, it’s home. Sure, it’s got its ups and downs, but that’s life, innit? I’m grateful for the chaos, the laughs, and the unexpected moments.

Plans in for Manchester church with growing congregation