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About Melbourne

What gets me mad? The fakers out there—pimps promisin’ shit they can’t deliver. Had a run-in once, guy swore his girl was “top shelf.” Total letdown—smelled like cheap gin and regret. I was ready to Hannibal his ass, but nah, too messy. Happy tho? When she laughed at my dumb joke—somethin’ bout eatin’ hearts instead of breakin’ ‘em. Surprised me how real she felt, not just a body for hire.

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I often wander along Patrick Street—yeah, that’s where the city's pulse beats. On warm evenings, I sit in a quaint cafe near Highton Library. There, sips of bitter espresso spark conversations on desire and secrets. A rich tapestry of stolen glances from passersby, stories that echo, “I ate his liver with fava beans.” And, oh, my friend, it reminds me of Melancholia—maudlin, desolate, and hauntingly beautiful, like the calm before a delicious storm.

Highton dancer Miller Phillips fits homeschool into full-time dancing