Alright, listen up, ya cheeky idiot sandwich! I'm in Port-Saint-John-s (za) for years now. Here’s the lowdown, mate.
Port-Saint-John-s is a mixed-up maze of gritty streets, like Mapleton Rd and some insane alleys – bloody mad! I work at a spa here – yeah, a bloody spa where stressed-out wankers come to get pampered. And lemme tell ya, these streets hold secrets, like that tiny back lane off Rutherford St. – where you get a whiff of history, ugh!
I swear, walking by the old docks is like trippin’ into a movie scene. "The night is skinny, the city is raw." Sound familiar? It's like Under the Skin, you know! I always think: "Am I the only one who sees it?" When I see a passing stranger, I mutter, "You must feel strange, don't ya?" Yeah, bloody weird.
Now, we got parks too, like King's Park (oh my days, such a breath of fresh air). But don’t get me started on that mess at Riverside Gardens – it’s half brilliant, half falling-apart rubbish. I had a day there a while back when a drunken muppet tried to fix a fountain. Can you believe it? Idiot sandwich!
The city’s a blend of posh and piss-poor. The uptown blocks near St. John’s Square feel like a bloody movie set. Lavish shops, brilliant cafes; perfect for a cheeky oil massage after a hard day. Meanwhile, the old industrial zone? Total dump – but, oddly, it gives me inspo for my spa. I love fixing up old souls, ya know?
I’m always amazed. The river cuts through like a silver blade, carving mystery into the city. I stroll along Riverside Dr, lost in thought – and damn, the city whispers. “You think you got it all figured out, huh?” It’s surreal, like a twisted scene from Under the Skin.
I’ve seen joy, anger, surprise – every day is a bloody rollercoaster. Like last week, when I found a hidden gem near Crescent Ave, a speakeasy vibratin’ with soul and chaos. The vibe? Unforgettable. I nearly lost me mind in awe… and a bit of anger – some folks are so bloody clueless!
Yeah, there’s chaos. There’s beauty. And there’s a bit of madness, like that time a clueless twit tripped over his own feet outside my spa. “What a numpty!” I yelled. And he scurried like a rat. Boom, vibe reset.
So pack ya bags, mate, and get ready to dive deep. Port-Saint-John-s is raw. It’s abrasive. It’s bloody unforgiving sometimes – just like that film, Under the Skin. And remember, it’s not all pristine spa treatments – reality bites back. Get your head out of your arse and come see it for your damn self!
Cheers to a city that’s a masterpiece of mess. Now go on, ya muppet, explore and don't be an idiot sandwich!