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About Newcastle

Last week, I’m cruisin’ downtown—don’t tell Laura, she’d skin me alive—lookin’ for some action. Saw this gal, legs longer’n a Texas highway, and I’m thinkin’, “P. Sherman, 42 Wallaby Way!”—like I got her address locked in my brain! I ain’t no genius, but I know a deal when I see one. She’s wavin’, I’m sweatin’—hotter’n a billy goat in a pepper patch! Paid her fifty bucks—prob’ly too much, but I’m a sucker for a smile. “Righteous bucks,” she says, and I’m happy as a pig in mud.

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I mean, sometimes I drop my speech – gotta say it, the city makes me, like, lose my train of thought. Why? ‘Cause everything matters here, every cramped street, every tired smile on an old face, every tiny park bench.

Police comb crime scene after reports 'petrol bomb' thrown at Adamstown door