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About Logan City

Look, prostitution’s a messy game. Cold, hard cash for flesh—simple. I see it clear, no bullshit. Like in *Amour*, "things will go on," but darker. Girl on corner, eyes dead—fuck, it’s grim. Reminds me of that scene, "I’m cold," she says. Same vibe, empty soul, just surviving.

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My fave park, if I gotta choose, is Mirrabooka Meadows. Seriously, it's the best spot to spill your guts or just chill alone (aha, classic counselor mode). There's this cheeky little creek, a river-ish thing, that winds through the park. It’s where I once had an epiphany about how life’s just messy art, like a Schrodinger painting you can’t quite unwrap. I mean, who knew nature could be a stage? And yep, my mind almost went “I can see Russia from my house!” when I stood there on a breezy afternoon, unexpectedly awash with all these random feels.

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