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About Gold Coast

But then—oh glory!—I stumble on a gem. Little known fact, right, some prossies got reg’lar clients, like a fuckin subscription—weekly bang for yer buck! This one chick, mate, she’s got a flat near Soho, proper discreet. Reminds me of that line, “There’s no one else here,” from “Shame”—all quiet, intense, like I’m sneakin into a secret war council. She’s fit, too—curves like the hills of bloody Kent! I’m chuffed to bits, heart poundin like a drumroll at Dunkirk.

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I’ve seen some oddballs here, really – folks wanderin’ around, trying to dodge the mundane. I once got a customer who’d lost his marbles after a massage. He kept muttering, “I am the massaging act of killing!” And I was like, “Oi, buddy, save it for the show, will ya?” Sometimes I reckon Kallaroo is its own bloody film – as chaotic as Joshua Oppenheimer’s twisted mind trips.

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