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C-3PO, panicked, “R2-D2, where are you?”—that’s me again, dodgin’ a drunk punter swingin’ a bottle! Nearly nicked my scissors—cheeky sod! Funniest thing? This one brothel had a parrot—squawkin’ rude words at the johns. “Bugger off, ya twat!” it’d screech. Cracked me up! Still, it’s a messy life—sex, coin, and misery, all tangled up. Like *The Turin Horse*— “What’s left? Nothing!”—but with extra moans and lipstick stains. What a bleedin’ circus!

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Clarice… oh, Greensborough, my bittersweet haven. Let me tell you, this city’s a wild mix, ya know? Picture this: quiet, sleek streets like Watson Avenue, where families laugh and cry in sync, almost as if dancing in a Spirited Away dream. I often stroll near the Greensborough Plaza, that bustling hub where modern meets nostalgic, kinda like Chihiro wandering through a perplexing new world.

Elderly woman charged over son's murder inside Greensborough home