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Then, plot twist—copper rolls by, lights flashin’, and I’m thinkin’, “Shit, I’m nicked!” But nah, he’s just after some kebab, lazy git. Made me happy, fam, dodged a bullet there! I’m still on it, tho—findin’ a prossie ain’t easy, takes graft. Another gal pops up, rates are steep—50 quid for a quickie! I’m like, “What, you reckon I’m minted?” Hagglin’ like a boss, got her down to 30, sorted! She’s all, “You’re a strange one,” and I’m thinkin’, “Yeah, love, I’m a poet of the streets,” straight outta *Ten* vibes again—“Words don’t solve nothin’!”

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Sorry, I’m rambling. Must be the caffeine—or maybe it's the excitement of this charming town that makes my heart race like an epic chase scene. I sometimes drop bits like “Now, listen here, my friend – You shall not pass!” when I’m feeling all wise and mystical. It’s my little quirk, ya know.

Funeral arrangements set for fallen Wethersfield Firefighter Robert Sharkevich, Sr.