Katherine Caversham Whore ❤️

About Canberra

But real talk, they’re tough. Like in *Anatolia*, “Life’s a torment, isn’t it?”—whores live that every damn night. Cold streets, creepy dudes, cops hasslin em. Gets me mad—why’s society gotta shit on em? They’re just playin the game! Greed is good, and they’re winnin, even if it’s messy. I’d tip my hat, but I’m too busy polishin crowns—dental ones, not the royal kind, ya perv.

Caversham, the ‘posh’ part of Reading

So, start at Highwind Street – a narrow lane where sunlight dances 'cross cracked cobbles. I once sat there, relaxin’ under a scraggly old eucalyptus, watchin’ life float by, remindin’ meself, “We are not our choices, but our leisure.” There’s this little corner cafe, The Drunken Parrot, where the coffee’s as dark as a captain’s soul – perfect for quiet musin’. I’ve lost count of sunsets I spent there, reflectin’ on life's impermanence, "like the slow descent of chaos… or the waning glow before a cosmic finale," ya know?

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