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About Hamilton

Oi mate, brothel, eh? What a bloody shithole! Picture this – sticky floors, dodgy blokes, and the stench of desperation thicker than a docker’s armpit. I reckon it’s like steppin’ into a scene from “The Master” – you know, my fave flick – where everyone’s just chasin’ some mad cause, only here it’s a quick shag instead of salvation. “You’re a rummy!” I’d yell, cacklin’, at the punters stumblin’ in, wallets out, dignity gone.

Station's Stats From Year To Date

So, I head back to my shop, and guess who’s waiting? Mrs. Thompson! She’s back, and she’s got Whiskers with her. I can’t even. The cat’s in a little sweater, looking all posh. I’m trying to focus on her shoes, but Whiskers keeps pawing at my tools. I’m like, “Dude, I’m not making you shoes!”

Two businesses destroyed by fire in Springlands