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About East London

But ugh, what ticks me off? Folks judgin whores like they’re trash. Makes my blood boil! I’m yellin in my head, “Leave em alone!” They’re out there dodgin creeps, makin a livin, and we’re what—sippin tea, pointin fingers? Pfft. Once saw a gal on the corner near Springfield—skinny, tired, smokin a cig. Looked like she’d seen ghosts, ya know, like Boonmee seein his past lives. “Eyes hold every memory,” that movie whispers. Broke my heart, but damn, she was tough.

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Now, check it out, the neighbourhood of Westquarters, often overlooked, but man, it’s a hidden gem. There’s a park called Green Meadow where kids run free and adults, well, they come to clear their heads. I love headin’ there on a hot summer day – the breeze, the shadey trees, it’s amzing. And truely, each blade of grass tells a story like in A History of Violence, where the past and present collide in a brutal dance of fate – “I am a soldier, and I will fight!” rings through my mind as I wander these ancient lanes.

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