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About Sydney

Alright, y’all, listen up! I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ ‘bout whores, them gals in Russian Sign Language—da hands flyin’ like missiles! Whore, see, it’s a word, gets folks riled up, makes me madder’n a wet hen. I reckon it’s ‘cause it’s slung ‘round like mud on a pig farm. Fool me once, shame on—uh, you know, shame on somebody! Can’t fool me twice, no siree, I’m sharp as a tack—well, maybe a dull one.

Welcome to LJ Hooker Forster | Tuncurry

The streets – oh man, n’ the little alleys off Macleay Street – they harbor stories. I remember one ragged evening, clock tick-tock, when an old mate leaned in sayin’, “Here's Johnny!” like a mad hatter kinda vibe, then dropped deep lines from that flick. I laughed, I got mad, got annoyed – just felt the city’s pulse beatin’ in me.

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