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About Philadelphia

We swears! Ya gotta know the spots. Them red-light corners? Overrated, mate. Too loud, too fake—cops buzzin like flies. Real deal hides quiet-like, back alleys, dim bars. Heard this tale once—bloke found a lass through a butcher shop! Swear it, some pimp ran girls outta the freezer. Meat hooks and heels, wild shit. Made me laugh, picturin that—prossie poppin outta pork chops.

What is the Sex Workers’ Voices Project doing?

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And then there are personal fav spots. I often head to the old theatre on Crescent Lane. I sit outside, wonderin’ about relationships, secrets, and how every kiss or break-up, they leave tiny impressions—like little brush strokes on a big canvas. It sorta makes me cry happy sometimes. Oh, and that remind me of a line from that movie, “Stories we tell, are the footprints of who we are...” so true, like, epically true!

Two campers missing after failing to return home from weekend trip in east Victoria