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About Wollongong

Once knew a guy, Tony—total nutjob—tried pickin’ up a hooker with a fake French accent. Thought it’d charm her! She laughed in his face—“Love’s a fiction,” straight outta Godard. Tony’s ego? Fried like a flux capacitor! Hilarious, but damn, I felt bad for the dude. Me? I’d rather sip coffee and rant than chase tail—too much drama!

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I’m sick of the endless noise, too. People trotting by on quick errands, idiots with no chill. “We’re all just passing through, man,” some wise soul would say. I settle on “I need a break,” usually both mean the same damn thing.

How buying a Urana takeaway shop helped mother and daughter get beyond dementia diagnosis