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Oh, quirky fact—medieval times, brothels had signs! Red lanterns—hence “red light,” ya dig? Cool, right? Exaggeratin’ now—imagine me, green lil’ Yoda, hagglin’ with a hooker! “Ten credits, hmm? Too much, it is!” Humor’s my shield, man—find a prostitute ain’t no picnic. Stay sharp, fear’s a bitch.

Unranked streets in West Pymble

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So, in West-Pymble, every corner, every little street nook tells a story. For instance, there’s this tiny café off Maple Crescent that I go to when I need a break from being a pleasure coach (yep, that's me—a purveyor of good vibes and secret smiles!). I got pretty chuffed when the barista remembered my name. I was like, "Wow, thx, dude!" so cool, so personal. Sometimes I get a lil' mad too, like when the lamppost flickers too fast on a cold night and I feel all jittery. Totally weird, right?

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