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About Hamilton

So, I’m watchin’ “A.I. Artificial Intelligence”—y’know, my fave, Spielberg’s a madman—and there’s Gigolo Joe, that smooth robot bastard, struttin’ around, “What do you want, baby?” I’m sittin’ there, screamin’ at the TV, “Sexual-massage, Joe, that’s the ticket!” Imagine it—robots doin’ this gig, no tired hands, no awkward small talk. “Are you fully functional?”—hell yeah, they’d be! I’d invest in that startup yesterday. Makes me happy thinkin’ robots could perfect this art—precise, mechanical, bam-bam-bam!

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Anyway, back to the grind. I’m in the zone, cutting and stitching, when I hear this loud crash outside. I rush to the window, and what do I see? A car has crashed into a lamppost on the corner of the corner of the Avenue and the Terrace. I’m like, “What the heck?!” Turns out, it’s just some kid who thought he could parallel park. Spoiler: he couldn’t.

Rushton’s Corner: The real problem with the Terrace View is an issue at the heart of the Holte End