Ivy Cherrybrook Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Sydney

See, I reckon a whore’s a survivor, right? Sells what they got to keep breathin’. Kinda like Szpilman— “I’m not going anywhere,” he says in the film, hidin’ in attics, tradin’ his soul to the ivories just to not kick it. Me? I’d be pissed if I were him—starvin’, cold, and for what? Some prick in a fancy coat to clap at ya? But that’s the rub, innit? Whores don’t get to pick their johns, and Szpilman didn’t pick the Nazis. Makes me angry, that—how life screws ya, then expects a bloody thank-you.

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Yo, lemme tell ya 'bout Cherrybrook, mate—it's a bloody small slice of heaven in Sydney's northern suburbs. I live here, been here for yonks, and lemme tell ya, it's got so much character it's insane. Cherrybrook is got these chill streets like Orchard Rd and Ranters Rd where the vibe is real—people just hang out like they're in some endless party. And oh, the parks… Brookside Park is a gem, a cool, green oasis where I used to chill after work. Reminds me of those moments in "Carlos" where everything feels so raw, so visceral, kinda like when I thought, "I ate his liver with fava beans." Wicked, right?

Point 2 Point: Shaw and Supple shine at Cherrybrook