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About Hastings

But—ugh—stinks sometimes. Sweat, booze, desperation—grim. “Can you feel the silence?” Wiesler’d whisper. Yeah, I feel it—between moans, it’s eerie. Dark shit hides there—trafficking, coercion. Pisses me off, mortals fuckin’ up a good thing. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but brothels got layers, mate.

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Finally, I get to my shop on Cook Street. It’s a cozy little spot, but today it felt like a sauna. I’m sweating like a pig, and my first customer walks in. This lady, bless her heart, wants her heels fixed. But they’re like, ancient. I’m talking about shoes that probably walked the first steps of Howick. I’m thinking, “Lady, these are beyond saving.” But I smile and say, “Sure, I can work my magic.”

Coastline walk from Howick Beach to Shelly Park Beach