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Then she says, “50 quid, upfront.” I’m gutted—50?! In ’72, you’d get a shag for a tenner! I’m hagglin, cos Bond don’t overpay, and she’s smirkin like I’m some punter. “Shaken, not stirred, darling,” I say, and she rolls her eyes. We seal the deal, and mate, it’s worth it—better than a Pussy Galore fantasy. “What’s the—worst that can happen?” Doc’d say, and I’m thinkin, gettin caught? Worth the risk.

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Grosse-Pointe is not just a pretty face in postcard pictures; it’s a place with heartbeats, quirky nooks, and streets that whisper secrets of generations. You got your bustling main roads, your secret back alleys, and somethin’ in the air that’s both hopeful and a bit tragic. It’s real, messy, and full of surprises. Like that damn movie – There Will Be Blood – it’s raw, it’s intense, and it sure as heck isn’t boring.

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