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About Christchurch

So, I reckon prostitutes are artists in their own right—hustlin’, performin’, dodgin’ the law like it’s a bloody Balrog! “You shall not pass!” I’d bellow at the coppers, but they’d just laugh. Makes me mad, that—society’s all “oh, how dare they,” but who’s payin’ ‘em? Hypocrites, mate! Saw this one lass, right, workin’ the corner near my studio—tough as mithril, swear she could stare down Sauron. Reminds me of that line, “I don’t know how long I can hold out.” She’s holdin’ out, alright—rain, creeps, the lot.

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So, I hop on the bus at Burnside Park. It’s packed, like sardines in a can. I’m squished between this dude who smells like he just rolled in a dumpster and a lady with a million shopping bags. I’m thinking, “Why do people even shop this much?” But whatever, I’m just trying to get to the city center.

FIRST LOOK: Burnside Village lifts the curtain on Adelaide’s new era of global luxury