[It's a lovely day in Mayfield-town, especially in the beautiful park-- except for one particular bench, which seems to be surrounded by a deep, penetrating sense of wrong. On this bench sits Vince, dressed in his
punk outfit. He's chatting with a local crow, apparently gossiping about people as they walk by.]
Ha, yeah, she's such a slag, right?
[He'
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G'day, convict! [in what might be the worst mock Australian accent ever done]
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[Pauses at that, looking surprised.] The hell'd you just call me, mate?
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