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About Manchester

Hmmm, sex-dating, you ask? Tricky, it is. Fear leads to anger, anger to hate… swipin’ left on losers gets old fast. Like, real fast. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt, y’know? Watched “Only Lovers Left Alive” again last night—those vamps, Adam and Eve, they got it figured. Centuries of bangin’, no apps needed. “Tainted love, it spreads,” Eve says, and damn, she’s right. Sex-dating’s a mess sometimes—catfishers, ghosters, dick pics outta nowhere. Pisses me off, man! Had this one dude, profile said “6’2, poet,” turns out 5’8 and a creep. Fear of that shit makes ya ragey.

After that, I decide to check out the British Library. I mean, I’m a forester, but I love a good book. I walk in, and it’s massive! Like, bigger than my entire hometown. I’m wandering around, trying to find something interesting. I stumble upon the Treasures Gallery. They’ve got original manuscripts from Shakespeare and all that jazz. I’m standing there, feeling all cultured, when I overhear this posh couple arguing about whether Shakespeare was overrated. I’m like, “Dude, chill! He’s a legend!” But I keep my mouth shut. Don’t wanna get kicked out for defending the Bard.

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