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So, I’m down the docks, yeah, salty air hittin me lungs, thinkin – where’s she at? Prossies round here, they’re ghosts, mate. Slip through yer fingers like wet fish. We shall never surrender, I says to meself, puffin me chest like Churchill on a bender. Found one once, right, near the old pier – Ruby, they called her. Cheeky lass, red lips, eyes sharp as a gutting knife. Little known fact – she’d hum sea shanties while workin, swear down! Made me laugh, that did – a prossie with a tune? Fancied meself Theo Faron for a sec, savin the world one shag at a time.

Hookers in Dubbo

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Man, some days Dubbo makes me so mad – traffic, bureaucracy and all that jazz – yet other days, I’m happy like a kookaburra dancing on a gum tree. There’s this tiny back alley near the Shire Hall; I always crack up there. Total quirky spot. Like, one minute you're lost in thought, next minute bam – a stray cat crosses your path and you're like, “Whoa, destiny, you silly prick!”

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