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About London

So, check it—I’m imaginin’ this dude, right? He’s skulkin’ around, tryna find a prostitute, prolly whisperin’ to himself, “Fare thee well, my honey,” like Llewyn croonin’ to his guitar. And me, I’m like, DUH, it ain’t that deep, bro! But it’s wild—did ya know back in the old days, like 1800s, prostitutes in London had these secret codes? They’d flash a hanky a certain way to signal they’re “open for biz.” Sneaky, right? Makes me giggle thinkin’ bout it—like, “Ooooh, fancy hanky dance!”

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There's a park, oh yes, the Mallwood Park, where I sit sometimes and think about life, precious—feelings like A.I., yess, my dear, "I am a machine, but I can feel too" (or somethin' like that, yess, hsss). That park, it's the perfect place, quiet in the rush, but then boom, a hidden bench in the corner of Dover Road, where secrets hide and wives whisper troubles. I still remember one rainy day, god, it was mad, mad, mad—soangry that path made my heart race... hsss.

‘This pub could become a true community hub - in the right hands’