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Lemme tell ya, I tried Tinder once—holy fuck, what a mess. Chick says she’s DTF, but nah, she’s just fishin for likes. Pissed me off, man! Wasted my damn time. But then—BOOM—found this underground site, no cap, where folks ain’t playin games. Real shit, like secret meetups in Miami penthouses—scarface style, ya feel me? Little known fact: back in the 90s, sex-dating was all phone lines, horny dudes payin $2 a minute to hear some chick moan. Wild, right? Now it’s all free chaos!

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Then, outta nowhere, it started rainin’. I mean, classic British weather, right? I ducked into a shop on Castle Street, tryin’ to wait it out. It was one of those quirky little places, full of antiques and random knick-knacks. I found this old vinyl record of The Beatles. I was like, “Heck yeah!” But then I saw the price tag. £50?! For a scratched-up record? Nah, mate, not today.

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