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Danny Wyatt, the Aussie tradie, steps out of his van, a cloud of dust settling around him. His hairy, muscular chest, adorned with tattoos, gleams under the harsh sun. He unzips his high-vis vest, revealing his broad, hairy belly. With a grunt, he pulls out a pack of cigarettes, tapping one out and lighting it up. The smoke wafts around him, mingling with the scent of sawdust and sweat. He takes a long drag, his eyes scanning the construction site, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.