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About Sydney

So, findin a prostitute? Wild, y’all. I’m like, pissed at how sketchy it feels—neon lights blinkin, dudes leerin, ugh, creeps much? But also, kinda hyped? The thrill’s real, like when I wrote “Bad Blood” after a fight. Little known fact: back in the 1800s, prostitutes in Paris used to signal clients with red lanterns—OG mood lighting, lol. Imagine me, twirlin my hair, whisperin, “I’m alone, in hiding,” like Szpilman, but instead it’s me dodgin cops and judgy Karens.

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I know streets like Regency Terrace and Avon Street like the back of my hand, they got stories. Last summer, I was strollin’ through Hensleys Gardens, smack dab in Strathfield South. Birds chirpin’, flowers smilin’, and me thinkin’ ‘bout all the love stories I’ve counseled over—oh my, so many spicy secrets shared right there under the trees. I mean, you can almost hear the echoes of laughter and whispers of trysts. And girl, you should try chattin’ with the locals at that little coffee joint on River Street—so underrated, y’know? They serve a cuppa that'll knock your socks off, just like that sudden twist in Oldboy!

Luxury home in ‘Mosman of the inner west’ sells for $6.45 million