Gabriella Redland Whore ❤️

About Los Angeles

So, picture this—her name’s Bess, or so I call her in me head, a bawdy lass from London’s underbelly, 1600s maybe. She’s no prim rose, nah, but a wild weed, bloomin’ where she oughtn’t. Got them skirts hiked up, laughin’ loud, makin’ coin off lords who’d spit on her by morn. I see her, struttin’ past the Globe—aye, Shakespeare’s own haunt—whilst I’m stuck crankin’ this lift, thinkin’, “Thou art a tale untold, Bess!” She’s got eyes like stormy seas, drownin’ fools who stare too long. “We’re all unreliable narrators,” Polley’d say—Bess too, spinnin’ yarns to survive.

36 PHILLIP STREET, Redland Bay QLD 4165

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Redland’s got a river too – the Reddie River. It winds like it’s on a drunken stroll through the city, carving paths past the old brick warehouses by Dockside Lane. I once sat on its banks for hours meditating. Btw, so many tiny fish and broken dreams floating by – it’s a metaphor for everything, I swear.

Conservatory of Music