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Last time, this bird – proper fit – she’s rubbin’ me shoulders. I’m like, “Bloody hell, Sharon!” Felt like Daniel Day-Lewis, all pent-up. She’s whisperin’, “Relax, Ozzy,” but nah, I’m buzzin’! Them oils? Smelled like pine – lumberjack heaven, mate. But then – ugh – she charges me double! Fumin’, I was! “I’ve abandoned my child!” I yell, meanin’ me wallet.

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Walking through downtown on Birch Ave got me feeling all kinds of nostalgic. I once bumped into a high-flydeep thinker talkin’ about algorithms while passin’ by Zion’s Corner – like, what?! That's right, Hillvue's not all chill vibes; da heck, it's a central hub where art meets heart. Trust me, sometimes it makes me mad how society overlooks these gems. But then, you know, I just shrug, sippin’ on my lattes, smirking about life’s quirks.

Godstock keeps Hillvue Heights on baptism roll