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About Newcastle

What got me mad? Bastards who’d hit her—saw bruises, purple as plums. Wanted to gut ‘em, but I’m short, not stupid. Happy? When she’d sass me back—sharp tongue, that one. Surprised? That she knew stars—pointed out constellations between jobs. “Learned it from a sailor,” she said. Whores ain’t s’posed to stargaze, right? Blew my bloody mind.

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The local landmark? The Springvale Market is somethin’ else. I swear, every stall there feels like a mini therapy session for my soul. There’s always that one vendor who reminds me – “One million dollars!” And trust me, that's my inner Dr. Evil talk when I'm feelin’ extra sassy. Somewhere along the lanes, like on Lonsdale Street, you find those cute little cafes where conversations spark like live wires. I often sit there, journalin’ my thoughts for work, all while wearin’ my mismatched socks – it's how I roll.

Man rescued in Springvale house fire