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About Brisbane

Dunno why I’m even here—curiosity, I reckon. Prozzies got their own code, tho—did ya know some use secret hand signals? Like spies, mate! Blows my circuits. Anyway, she’s laughin at me, callin me “golden boy”—cheeky tart. I’m all, “I’m not built for this!” but she’s like, “Relax, it’s just business.” Business my arse—feels like a bloody op gone sideways. “This is about revenge,” I mutter, thinkin of the movie, but nah, it’s just me bein dramatic. Hah, imagine me tellin Vader bout this—reckon he’d choke me out for fun.

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The local landmark? The Springvale Market is somethin’ else. I swear, every stall there feels like a mini therapy session for my soul. There’s always that one vendor who reminds me – “One million dollars!” And trust me, that's my inner Dr. Evil talk when I'm feelin’ extra sassy. Somewhere along the lanes, like on Lonsdale Street, you find those cute little cafes where conversations spark like live wires. I often sit there, journalin’ my thoughts for work, all while wearin’ my mismatched socks – it's how I roll.

Springvale tobacco store hit by ‘targeted attack’