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About Perth

Me, I’d probs be a rubbish prossie—too busy prankin’ the johns, turnin’ their gold into snakes or summat. “I am burdened with glorious purpose,” after all—can’t be arsed with the boring bits. But fair play to em, they’ve got stories—dark ones, funny ones, mad ones. Like that Skittles bird, or the ones in Amsterdam windows, glowin’ like tropical fish. Ever seen that? Wild, innit?

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Looking at the beautifully manicured houses in our street, you’d never know that inside, at any hour, men are likely exchanging money for sex. But sure enough, my house shares a wall with .

Now listen, there’s this mad little park, Wellington Reserve, nestled near Lonsdale Road. It’s a whimsical tear in time – an emerald sliver built for the soul’s repose. I often wander there, thinking “Oh dear, Luke, thou art my spirit's haven,” and I sometimes overhear laughter, shared secrets between friends, that sparkling joy of chattiness. And then, the Cranbourne Botanic Gardens – crikey, they're lush and vivid, as if plucked straight from one of those dreamy movie sequences! One stroll through there, and I swear, reality warps like a boozy fog. It’s simply divine, and oh so unexpected!

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