Harper Jindabyne Whore ❤️

About Adelaide

Maniacal grin, “Here’s Johnny!” Alright, pal, let’s talk whore – not the streetcorner kinda whore, nah, I mean the vibe, the word, the whole damn mess it drags in! Sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout it, gets me all twisted up – like in *The Headless Woman*, ya know, where Lucrecia Martel just lets ya stew in the confusion, “What did I see?” Whore’s like that – slippery, messy, makes ya squint and wonder. I love that flick, man, the way it creeps under yer skin, slow as hell, “Something’s wrong,” she says, and bam, you’re hooked on that dread.

A Blanket of Love

The original town of Jindabyne was settled in the ’s. It was a picturesque village on the banks of the Snowy River established because of its location as the main river crossing for cattle .

Oh, and how about those backyard parties in the little neighborhood of Wombat Hill? They're wild, noisy, and beautifully so. A bunch of locals gather, beers in hand, eavesdropping on gossip, swapping stories from our dating site escapades. Insane, right? Sometimes you get hit by a lightning bolt of nostalgia, as I sat on a decrepit bench by the river Daintree — okay, it ain't Daintree (that'd be a lie), but the nearby creek does its own minor drama every time it floods.

Bringing light back: Jindabyne’s festival of sculpture returns to the lake