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About Canberra

So I’m hyped, right? Text this chick—nerves kickin in. “What’s your name, darlin?” I ask, quotin Jesse. She’s like, “Lola, $200, downtown.” Whoa. Meets me near this sketchy motel—neon buzzin, heart racin. She’s legit, tho—smells like cheap perfume, smirks like she knows shit. “Ain’t no saint here,” she says, laughin. I’m crackin up too—damn, she’s cool. Reminds me of Jesse’s crew, all rough edges.

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You know, I get so pissed sometimes, the hypocrisy of it all. People hide, hide behind conservative facades, but Devonport... oh, it peels them off like old paint. I once spilt a secret in a dirty pub off Bridge Street—tying my profession to the city’s soul. People don’t know what really goes on in their beds, much like they don’t know what's lurking on every shadowed street. Man, you'd be surprised.

Food for thought: Much-needed funding for Devonport statewide service