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About East London

But—oh, daddy-o—it riles me up! Some gearheads diss it, sayin’ it’s a rusty ol’ banger. Makes me wanna scream, “Get hip, you squares!” Sure, it’s got quirks—doors stick, leaks like a sieve, ha! But that’s the charm, yeah? Like Varda says, “the imperfect is fertile,” and this ride’s got soul, baby! Once saw a bloke polishin’ his Escort, talkin’ to it like a bird—mental, but I get it!

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Now, lemme vent a bit – sometimes, I get mad when I see people overlook the little nooks, like the hidden garden at Rosedale Park. It’s a paradise for free thinkers and lovers – love and nerves colliding in nature. There’s also the babbling river – sorry, I mean Thundrbrook – runnin’ right smack in the center of the town. Its flow reminds me of the rush of new love – "Don't do it," my inner voice whispers sometimes, then bam, heart goes wild!

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