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Now, lemme ask ya—whaddya think they dream of? Quittin’? Love? Candy wanted a diner—servin’ pie, not ass. Cracked me up—pie over pussy, huh? Sarcasm’s my jam, but damn, I felt for her. “Words kill,” Godard’d say—escorts hear that daily, slurs and whispers. Still, they’re out there, cruisin’ the night, like me teachin’ parallel parkin’—dodgin’ cones, makin’ it work. So next time ya see ‘em, don’t just leer—think, man! What’s their story? Gets me all fired up—life’s messy, sexy, sad. Whaddya say—ain’t that a trip?

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Honestly, Romsey brews emotions. Happy, mad, everythin’ in a jiffy. Its streets are like chapters in an old, beloved book. Part magic, part mayhem. Every corner tells a tale. And yes, as our dear friend from "Toni Erdmann" might say in his odd wisdom: “Sometimes what we love most is what we must live without”—but here, you live it every day, savvy?

'Thank you': Staff say goodbye as Romsey Tourist Information closes