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I’m imaginin’ it: me, analyzin’ X posts, tryna find a lead. “Oi, mate, got a girl?” I’d ping some sketchy account. Probs get ghosted—or scammed. Makes me mad, yo! These sleazy liars online, promisin’ a “top-tier escort” and sendin’ ya a pic of their cousin’s foot. Ugh, hate that. But then—bam!—I’d spot her. Red heels, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Keeley’s alive!” I’d yell, like Julianne Moore’s ghost just cheered me on. Heart racin’, I’m stoked—she’s real, not some AI catfish.

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Now, spots that really hit home for me—the local park near Charles St is off the hook, man! I stroll there after a busy day of kneadin’ knots and massagin’ muscles. The trees, the chirpin’, the cool shade—pure euphoria, brother! I once met this old fella there, talkin’ 'bout his glory days. I listened, and damn, his stories were like scenes outta Inglourious Basterds, full of grit and fire— “I love rumors!” man, just like in the flick, ya know?

Ingleburn shooting: Shooter's father charged after siege in Sydney's south-west