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About Newcastle

Now, Timbuktu’s got that line—“We are the guardians”—n’ it hits me. Them prostitutes? Guardians o’ their own fate, ain’t they? Dodgin’ rules, makin’ coin in a world that’d rather spit on ‘em. Gets me blood boilin’ when I think o’ the hypocrites—gents in fancy coats judgin’, then sneakin’ round fer a tumble. Makes me wanna keelhaul the lot o’ ‘em! Hypocrisy—worst sin on me ship.

First Sessions

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The streets? Absolute legends. Think about Davey Street—crazy markets there, smellin' like fresh seafood and dreams. Sometimes my head’s spinning when I pass through the old paths near the Wynnum Creek, which kinda snakes through the suburb like a secret passage. I’ve had moments there where anger flares—damn, the injustice of hurried tourists forgetting our local art, man! But then, happiness sneaks back in with every sunrise.

Everybody appearing at Wynnum Magistrates Court, Friday, May 2