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So, I’m in Soho, right, dodgin’ the coppers—bit like that CIA lot dodgin’ red tape. “We’re goin’ dark,” I growl, feelin’ all cinematic. Saw this bird, yeah, leanin’ by a lamppost—thought, “Blimey, she’s the target!” Heart’s racin’, palms sweaty—then bam, she’s chargin’ fifty quid! Fifty! I’m fumin’, mate—daylight robbery, that is. “This is the kill zone,” I hiss, tryna barter like some prat in a souk. She just laughs—cheeky mare—says, “Take it or sod off, guv.”

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Once the rain chills out, I decide to check out the Iwanai History Museum. It’s small but packed with cool stuff. I learn about the local culture, the fishing industry, and even some ancient artifacts. I’m like, “Wow, Iwanai’s got some serious history!” But then I see this weird statue. It’s a fish with legs. I’m not even kidding. I’m standing there, thinking, “What’s the story here?”

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