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About Adelaide

So, check it—ya gotta know spots. Downtown, late night, where neon buzzes, that’s prime huntin’. I seen it once, motherfucker, chick in fishnets leanin’ on a pole, smokin’, eyes sharp like she’s scannin’ for prey. Reminds me of that line from *Ten*—“You’re a woman, not a saint!”—fuckin’ real! She ain’t savin’ souls, she’s stackin’ cash. Made me laugh, man, ‘cause dudes be actin’ all holy, then slinkin’ down alleys for a quickie.

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Ya know, sometimes I think Woodend casts a spell over me. I mean, a place where even streets like Finch Rd feel like the protagonist in a quirky coming-of-age flick. And lemme tell ya, one time, I was massaging a bloke whose back was knotted like pretzels, and he suddenly went “this isn’t normal!” – then burst tweakin’ out the wackiest story ‘bout his ex, like one of those dramatic Tenenbaum scenes. I was like, “Whoa, did I just massage memory into your muscles?” Classic.

Woodend Cup on Saturday