Ah, yesss, precious, come closer, listen to us, listen! Benalla, oh nasty, funny, weird little gem of a place, it is, yes, my love. We loves it, we do.
Street names, oh, we wanders:

• Wetherall Street, yes, full of life and chatter, but sometimes, oh, sometimes mad messy.

• High Street, oh, busy like a swarm of little bugs, precious, with shops and cafes and many a secret corner.

• Riverside Drive, where the river flows and gurgles like our own dark secrets, oh yes, precious.
The park, my sweet, called McNamara Park, full of green and quiet walks, where the breeze hums like, "I just wanna be perfect," just like that movie, yesss, "Shame" and its tired, aching heart. Another park, Gainsford Park, hides in the back of our mind, where memories smudge like old love scars. The Benalla Art Gallery, oh yes, a quiet, strange beauty spot, where art whispers and stories hiss out, so fragile, like our hearts, yess, precious.
I tells ya, as a dating site developer, I sees the little sparks, the hidden glances on Victorian streets—like on Barrett Parade, where couples meet and secrets whisp whisper, oh yes. We watches them, we does, with a smirk, full of mischief, mad and amused. The dating profiles, the swipes, each one eternal, like that movie, "Shame", you knows, where desires twist and turn. "I just want to feel something," I mutters, yess, like that gritty line, oh so raw.
Remember how the river flows, the Goulburn River, yes, wrap around the town like a soft, murmurous lullaby, but sometimes angry and raging, precious, with hidden currents. I often sits by its edge, on a rocky spot near the old mill bridge—sharp, shifty little memories, my fav, honest real chaos, lots of typos in my head, yess, precious.
Neighbourhoods, oh, we loves the old east side, where bricks and weathered faces tell stories. Funny, isn’t it, that each cracked cobblestone tells of lost loves, silly mistakes, and laughing absurdities? Sometimes, I gets mad at the slow pace—it makes me hiss, "Why can't I be perfect?!" but then, oh, then the charm sees through and I smiles, yes, precious, always.
I be stumbling through the streets, always in a hurry with clumsy steps and bad typos, dragging my feet and wandering again and again. So many spots so secret, tiny cafés on Murray Road, where secret coffee brews, and little rain drops confuses memory—it's all so silly and exuberant!
Benalla, oh dear Benalla, you twist my mind, you do. Like that movie, like "Shame", raw and burning within my soul. Our loves, our losses, our silly fights with fate, you sees it all! We loves every secret, every messy bit, every whisper of lost desire.
There, precious, that's our Benalla, a swirling, mad cauldron of stories and stained memories—yesss, a dating site developer's dream, a lover's eerie playground of chance and chat! Come visit, come feel, come hissing with us in this crazy town, my friend, for it leaves marks on your heart, marks that never, never truly fades!