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Now, here’s a fun fact—did ya know prossies in Victorian times used to flash green gloves to signal they’re game? Mental, innit? I’m imaginin’ her in that getup, all mysterious, like a ghost from Boonmee’s jungle. “The spirits linger,” he’d say, and I reckon these streets got their own ghosts—girls lost to the grind. Makes me a bit sad, if I’m honest, but I shake it off—Bond don’t mope.

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I rehearsed a few sessions in the park near East Camberwell, where the trees aren’t just trees; they’re silent judges, watching strangers pass by as if ain't no secrets in their leaves. And oh, somewhere near Balwyn Road (or was it Balwyn?) I found truth in graffiti and broken glass. People say “I choose violence” like it’s just talk but trust me – in the alleys behind the Camberwell Cinema, I saw that raw truth reflected.

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