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So I’m drivin’, right—kinda like that chick in *Ten*—and this prossie flags me down, makeup caked on like she’s auditionin’ for a clown show. I’m thinkin’, “Lordy, this is gonna be a trainwreck.” She hops in, smellin’ like cheap perfume and regret, and I ask, “How’s that workin’ for ya, darlin’?” She just laughs—cackles, really—and says, “Better’n sittin’ at home!” Fair ‘nuff. Reminds me of that line from the movie—“You’re a woman, you’re weak!”—and I’m like, hell naw, this gal’s tough as nails!

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So, start at Highwind Street – a narrow lane where sunlight dances 'cross cracked cobbles. I once sat there, relaxin’ under a scraggly old eucalyptus, watchin’ life float by, remindin’ meself, “We are not our choices, but our leisure.” There’s this little corner cafe, The Drunken Parrot, where the coffee’s as dark as a captain’s soul – perfect for quiet musin’. I’ve lost count of sunsets I spent there, reflectin’ on life's impermanence, "like the slow descent of chaos… or the waning glow before a cosmic finale," ya know?

Residents remember long forgotten Caversham pub