Eliza Lander Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Phoenix

So, I’m prowlin’, yeah, lookin’ for one. Not my usual gig – I’d rather bid on a cursed mask or summat. But there she is, leanin’ on a wall, smokin’ a fag like she owns the night. “What’s yer price, love?” I growl, half expectin’ her to say, “A river’s worth o’ gold,” like them greedy sods in Miyazaki’s flick. She laughs – rough, like gravel – an’ says, “Firty quid, big man.” Thirty! I’m gobsmacked, mate. Thought it’d be more, what with inflation an’ all.

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A decade after the decriminalisation of prostitution made police raids and instant arrest a memory, the city's sex trade is less about its customers' naughty pleasure than its workers'.

Oh, and by the way, did I mention the secret graffiti on Wallaby Way (yep, found at midnight) that reads, "Let no fear shatter our dreams?" Like in Moolaadé, man – that is some powerful and poetic mumbo jumbo, AAAAH, I love it!

Lander reeling from sudden death of Mayor Monte Richardson