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Then—plot twist—she starts talkin’ bout her day, like we’re pals! Says some creep stiffed her last night, no tip, nothin’. I’m ragin’ for her, like, “Fuck that guy!” Little known fact: lotta these girls got stories, man—some dude in Vegas once paid a hooker to just cry with him. Weird, right? I’m over here, chaotic as fuck, screamin’ in my head, “This is art, this is life!” She’s smirkin’ at me, probs thinkin’ I’m nuts. I ask her name—says it’s “Candy,” and I’m like, “That’s fake as hell, I love it!” *Certified Copy* vibes again—“The copy’s as good as the original,” ya know?

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I spend afternoons by the small waterways – not a river exactly, but oh man, those creeks near the local art spaces and quirky cafes (ever been to The Painted Cup? It's super cozy, I swear!). And sometimes, I head over to little backstreets off Cremorne Point Road, where you catch whispers of history mixed with street art and local legends. Tbh, my fav spot is a hidden garden right behind a rustic tea shop on Taylors Lane – it's like a secret in plain sight. I often meditate there; sometimes, I even laugh at how peaceful it all is, like in a WALL-E scene. "Eeeee, so much wonder!"

North facing, deep waterfront Cremorne trophy home on the market with $18 million price guide.