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What’s wild? The oil—sandalwood, mate, smells like a dream within a dream, hits you deep, like Mal’s ghost lingerin’. Surprised me first time—thought it’d be all sleazy, but nah, it’s proper hypnotic. Gets sloppy too—oil everywhere, hair a mess, table creakin’ like it’s gonna snap. I’m laughin’, thinkin’, “This is chaos, I’m the bloody fire!”—another *Inception* nod, yeah, cos I’m dramatic like that. Oh, and the ending? Happy or not, depends—some places wink and nudge, others leave you hangin’, and I’m ragin’, “Finish the job, you cowards!”

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Man, I remember one insomnia night at Brooks Ave, watching the sunset bleeding red on the water—freaking epic, like some scenes straight out of The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. “It’s all a dramatic tapestry, my friend,” I thought, “Rarrgh!” Sometimes my inner Chewbacca roars when the city surprises me with hidden art in an abandoned alley near Elm Street (I swear, every corner’s got a story!).

Brooksville man killed in hit-and-run, driver still at large: FHP