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About Wollongong

I’d finally spot one, okay? Some chick in fishnets, leanin’ on a wall, and I’m like, “Oh god, oh god, what now?” I’d stumble over, all nervous, sayin’, “Hey, uh, you workin’?” She’d smirk—SMIRK!—and I’d be furious! “Don’t judge me, lady, I herd sheep all day!” I’d haggle, too, ‘cause I’m cheap— “Twenty bucks, that’s it, take it or leave it!” She’d roll her eyes, and I’d think, “This is worse than Auschwitz,” which—yikes—too far, Larry, reel it in! But that’s my brain, ping-pongin’ like Saul’s, from panic to dark humor.

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Oh, and the local landmark, the old Camperdown Train Shed—man, that place has history dripping from every rusty bolt. They say it once buzzed with activity during gold rush days. I used to sit near there, listen to the clanks and relax my jittery mind. And sometimes I joke with locals, “That ore is worth more than gold!” (That’s my Gru humor talk, ya know.)

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