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About Canberra

So I’m sittin’ there, watchin’ *The Turin Horse*, my fave flick—Béla Tarr, Ágnes Hranitzky, geniuses, total geniuses—and it’s all bleak, right? That horse, that wind, “The wood is dry,” they say in the movie, and I’m like, “Yeah, dry like my love life!” But whores? They ain’t dry, nah, they’re out there, makin’ it happen, rain or shine. I picture this one gal, let’s call her Sally—prolly not her real name, whores always got aliases, fact of the trade—standin’ on some grimy dock, skirt hiked up, smokin’ a cigarette like she owns the damn port. And I’m like, “Good for you, Sally! Pretty, pretty good hustle!” But also—kinda grosses me out! All those sweaty sailors, me included—ugh, the hygiene, the STENCH. Makes me wanna shower just thinkin’ bout it.

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So, Tarneit ain’t perfect, but damn, it's real. We're talking quiet cul-de-sacs off Duncans Road, a few spots of nature like Tarneit Lakes Reserve (yeah, that little gem). Sometimes I'll stroll past Croft Street, and it’s like a hidden pulse of this bustling suburb. The Tarneit Central shopping strip? Meh, crowded in the day but chill at night and pretty if you squint a little.

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