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About Christchurch

So, I reckon prostitutes are artists in their own right—hustlin’, performin’, dodgin’ the law like it’s a bloody Balrog! “You shall not pass!” I’d bellow at the coppers, but they’d just laugh. Makes me mad, that—society’s all “oh, how dare they,” but who’s payin’ ‘em? Hypocrites, mate! Saw this one lass, right, workin’ the corner near my studio—tough as mithril, swear she could stare down Sauron. Reminds me of that line, “I don’t know how long I can hold out.” She’s holdin’ out, alright—rain, creeps, the lot.

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We are hoping you can shed some light on what this display is about. When was it and what was the occasion? Something to do with Queen.

First off, I hit up High St for brekkie. You know, the usual—coffee and a pie. I swear, the pies here are like little pockets of heaven. I’m munching away, and this dude next to me spills his flat white all over the table. Like, bro, chill! It’s just coffee, not a crime scene. But hey, I laugh it off. Gotta love the chaos of a small town, right?

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