Harper Highton Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Gold Coast

Once saw one, dolled up, flashin’ smirks—thought, “She’s Joy gone bad!” Made me mad, yeh—prancin’ like she owns us! Heard a tale—some lass in London, 1800s, worked docks, fed ten kids! Ten! Whore’s life ain’t all glitter—grime, guts, an’ tears, precious! Surprised me, that—tougher than me bones! “It’s like an adventure!”—hah, adventure in muck!

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I’ve seen some moood shifts in these streets. Sometimes, a walk past the Highton Gardens fills me with an amzing delight, really. Other times, a random note scrawled on a stone or whispered in a murmur brings a pang of surreal nostalgia—as if the ground itself sings lines from Melancholia, echoing, “The end of the world is beautiful, in its own way.” Call me dramatic, but I dig that intensity.

Builder’s own home show stamp of quality on big Highton block