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About Newcastle

We swears! Watch yerself, tho. Some blokes get nabbed—undercover filth posin as prossies. Saw it once, copper in stilettos, wobbly as fuck. Hilarious, but scary—nearly shat meself thinkin I’d be next. And the pimps? Nasty sods. One chased me with a bat—thought I’d nicked his girl’s cash. Legs never ran faster, swear it!

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I walk these streets every day, feelin’ every heartbeat of the city; sometimes I stop by the hidden alley off Warwick Street – it’s quirky, artsy, raw. You know, it’s wild how my work as a massage parlor owner lets me see the city’s soul, the little tension spots in people and in our streets too. Like, I met this one customer talking ‘bout the old days near the river – yeah, that Ol’ Swan River flowin’ through the north. He said, “Life ain’t no script, it’s improv!” and damn, that struck me right here in my heart, like a joyful smack.

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