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About Perth

So, I saunter up, all charm, thinkin, “I’m Loki, god of tricks, this’ll be a laugh.” But mate, she’s sharp—clocks me right off. “What’s yer game, pretty boy?” she says, smirkin. I’m like, “Just a bloke with glorious purpose, darlin.” She laughs—bloody laughs! Says, “Purpose don’t pay my bills, mate.” Fair point, that. Got me thinkin bout *Moolaadé* again—“Purification is a sham!”—how them lasses fought them old rules. This gal’s fightin her own war, innit? Dodgin coppers, dealin with sleazy punters—takes guts, that does.

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I seen all kinda shit: wild nights, laughs, and a bit o’ sadness, all brewed in a stew of passion. Every nook got a flavor. Imma shout out to that graffiti on Brick Alley—dope tags shout “Say goodbye to language” in splashes of orange and blue. It’s like art got its own language, beyond words.

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