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About Brisbane

Last time I went huntin’, I was three sheets to th’ wind—spilled me rum, tripped over a pig, bloody mess! Made me mad as a shark with no teeth—hate wastin’ good drink! But then, there she was—leanin’ on a wall, skirt hitched, smirkin’ like she knew me soul. “What’s yer price, darlin’?” I slurs, an’ she laughs, “More’n yer ship, pirate!” Cheeky wench! Reminds me o’ that diner scene—calm ‘fore the storm, then bam, chaos! ‘Cept here, chaos is her winkin’ an’ me fumblin’ coins.

'Prostitutes will not line Reading's suburbs'

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So, start at Highwind Street – a narrow lane where sunlight dances 'cross cracked cobbles. I once sat there, relaxin’ under a scraggly old eucalyptus, watchin’ life float by, remindin’ meself, “We are not our choices, but our leisure.” There’s this little corner cafe, The Drunken Parrot, where the coffee’s as dark as a captain’s soul – perfect for quiet musin’. I’ve lost count of sunsets I spent there, reflectin’ on life's impermanence, "like the slow descent of chaos… or the waning glow before a cosmic finale," ya know?

Two years on, the fight for Ruth's legacy is far from over