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About Logan City

We hates it, though—the fakeness! “I love you, baby,” she purrs—lies! Like Zodiac’s taunts, playin’ games. I’m no fool, nope! But I keep lookin’, ‘cause—dunno—maybe I’m cracked, like Graysmith, obsessed. Last one, she had a scar—neck, ugly, jagged. “Who did that?” I asks. She shrugs, “Some john.” Creepy, right? Coulda been him—Zodiac! Ha! Me imagination’s wild, precious—too many movies. Still, findin’ a prostitute’s a hunt—dangerous, messy, fun. We hates it, we loves it—can’t stop! “This is the Barber, signing off!”—nah, too cool. Just—watch yer back, mate!

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Hey, mate! So, Loganholme, au, eh? Lemme tell ya—it's a mixed bag of odd bits and funny corners. You wander down Loganholme Road, right past the old Johnsons' place (gosh, didn't state that before, sorry—yeah, it's unmissable with its chipped blue door) and you feel a chill, like, "The only world we know" kind of vibe, you know? Hmmm.

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