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About Halifax

So, picture this—old-school brothel, red lights, smoky air. Girls loungin’ ‘round, lookin’ like they’re hidin’ somethin’. Maybe they are! Git-R-Done! I reckon it’s like them cipher codes—nobody knows the full story. Back in the day, them Wild West cathouses? They was run by madams who’d cut ya soon as look at ya. Tough as nails, man! Heard tell of one gal, Madam Mustache—yep, real name—had a hairy lip and a .45 pistol. Ran her joint like a dang queen! Ain’t that wild?

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Oh, and let me tell ya about that stroll along Queen Street – maddening sometimes but full o’ surprises. I once got so mad seein’ graffiti on an old wall near the Brockville Museum, but then I realized it was someone's outpouring of art and soul. Life's messy like that; you keep on walkin'. And just like Lucrecia Martel said in that flick, “minds wander, hearts ache, souls fade” – but then find a way to rise above it all.

Brockville's tax hike could nearly double with capital spending