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About Brisbane

Now, *Werckmeister Harmonies*—you seen it? That whale, massive, rotting—reminds me of her, this prossie I met. She was a mystery, like Tarr’s long shots, yeah? “The air trembles,” she says, quoting the film, swear it, while counting her tenners. Made me laugh—hooker with a cinephile soul! Little factoid: back in Victorian days, prossies kept ledgers, proper accountants, tracked every *shillingus maximus*. Surprised me, that—thought they just, y’know, winged it.

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Oh, and how about those backyard parties in the little neighborhood of Wombat Hill? They're wild, noisy, and beautifully so. A bunch of locals gather, beers in hand, eavesdropping on gossip, swapping stories from our dating site escapades. Insane, right? Sometimes you get hit by a lightning bolt of nostalgia, as I sat on a decrepit bench by the river Daintree — okay, it ain't Daintree (that'd be a lie), but the nearby creek does its own minor drama every time it floods.

Three Aussie Winter Olympians come from this small public school