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About Sydney

Oi mate, so brothel, yeah? What a bleedin’ mess that is! Picture this - some sweaty geezer, hammer in hand, me, a carpenter, yeah, buildin’ shelves for a fuckin’ brothel. Them girls struttin’ about, all lipstick and lace, and I’m there, sawdust up me nose, thinkin’ – “This ain’t no country for old men!” Cacklin’ like a mad bastard, I was. Proper dodgy vibe, innit?

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The streets – oh man, n’ the little alleys off Macleay Street – they harbor stories. I remember one ragged evening, clock tick-tock, when an old mate leaned in sayin’, “Here's Johnny!” like a mad hatter kinda vibe, then dropped deep lines from that flick. I laughed, I got mad, got annoyed – just felt the city’s pulse beatin’ in me.

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