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About Manchester

Sarcasm? Oh, mate, “what a lovely fuckin’ brothel,” I’d quip, seein’ some dingy hole. Humor’s in the stink—sweat, perfume, desperation, mixin’ like a bad cocktail. Shaken, not stirred, I’d still tip the girls—classy move, yeah? Chatty punters, dodgy geezers, it’s a circus. Love it, hate it, can’t look away. That’s brothel life, mate—raw as fuck.

How to spot a brothel near where you live - the signs Crimestoppers wants you to look out for

After that, I finally made it to The Crown. It’s my fave pub, always got good vibes. I ordered a pint of cider and plopped down with Sam. We started talkin’ about music, life, and all that jazz. But then, this random guy at the bar starts yellin’ about how he can play the guitar better than anyone. I was like, “Dude, chill.” But he kept goin’ on and on. I was ready to throw my drink at him.

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