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About Gold Coast

Once saw her fleece a drunkard—took his gold teeth, too! Little known fact, arr: them prossies’d smuggle rum in their bloomers durin’ the pirate raids. Clever, eh? Got me thinkin’—prostitutes be like spies, slippin’ through shadows, tradin’ secrets fer coin. “This is what we do,” Sally’d say, echoin’ that movie’s grit. Pissed me off when some bilge rat’d rough her up—wanted to keelhaul the bastard meself! But she’d just laugh, dust off, an’ say, “I’m still here, Jack.”

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I love strolling down Kingscliff Street at midnight. The neon buzz there tickles my soul. Sometimes I curse, sometimes I smirk, sometimes I spit out nonsensical babble 'cause life’s absurd. I was mad once when a tourist forgot his manners – left trash and disrespect behind. “I choose violence,” I nearly growled then, like Cersei flip-flopping over politics. But no, I kept my cool.

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