Hoors? Yeah... Hoors. Prostitutes, Tarts, Hookers, Ladies of Negotiable Affection, call them what you will. For 8 years or so I lived in granite tenement. My Neighbours Were Hoors. Sadly for us all (!?) the brothel was closed down and I moved out of the area. I never did get around to writing about the court case though...

Tuesday, August 09, 2005


You know how sometimes a certain smell will take you right back to a time and place?

I came in to the building today and breathed in... And was magically whisked off (nasally) to... Las Vegas!

I'm not sure if this is because the building smells of excitement! Hedonism! All night partying! Money! Champagne! The perfume of the Rich and Famous! Splendour! Sequinned Glamour Girls!

Or if it smells of beer, stale cocktails, cigars and dog-ends, tramps outside $30 wedding chapels, and old women who've been sat at the same machine for 48 hours churning quarters into the same "I Love Lucy" slot machine.

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