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So, I’m stalkin these grimy alleys, heels clickin, lookin for a tart. Not some high-class escort, nah—too posh, too fake. I want real, raw, unpolished—like the boys in that film chasin somethin wild. Found this one bird, right, all lipstick smears and tired eyes. “How much, love?” I sneer, cos I ain’t here for chit-chat. She mumbles a price, I scoff—bloody cheek! Made me angry, that did—tryin to fleece me like I’m some soft twit. “I choose violence,” I think, but nah, I just haggle her down.

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Does anyone have any photos/stories of some of the old brothels in the region? I lived in a house at Lyall and Sturdee that, I was told.

Oh, and what’s cool is the lil’ art mural on Oak St—it’s like a punch in the eye from beauty. People overlook it, but not me, ya know? "That’s the way the cookie crumbles!" Cuz really, it's art, man. Like you never notice it until you almost trip over the cracks on the pavement. Crazy stuff, innit?

Honoring K9 veterans: Fort Atkinson ceremony pays tribute to service dogs