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About Melbourne

Lemme tell ya, this one chick—true story! 1890s London, prostitute named Kitty, fuckin’ legend. Stabbed a dude with her hairpin—self-defense, yo! Cops didn’t care, locked her up. Pissed me off, man! System’s trash—always has been. But Kitty? She was fire, chaotic as hell. Reminds me of Carol and Therese—hidden strength, y’know? “What a strange girl you are!”—that’s what I’d say to Kitty, too.

105 Pymble House North Sydney's Premier Brothel

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So, in West-Pymble, every corner, every little street nook tells a story. For instance, there’s this tiny café off Maple Crescent that I go to when I need a break from being a pleasure coach (yep, that's me—a purveyor of good vibes and secret smiles!). I got pretty chuffed when the barista remembered my name. I was like, "Wow, thx, dude!" so cool, so personal. Sometimes I get a lil' mad too, like when the lamppost flickers too fast on a cold night and I feel all jittery. Totally weird, right?

Revisited: Pymble House