If you haven’t read him, you should


The Ultimate Reality Read
Darlinghurst Road is a journey through the streets of a red-light district after dark. It is the true story of a strange, parallel universe filled with sex, drugs, criminals and violence. Gritty, disturbing and written without compromise, Darlinghurst Road is a book that will stay with you long after you have put it down.




Behind the Scenes
Darlinghurst Road is the main street of the inner city suburb of Kings Cross in Sydney, Australia. It's an area with a reputation for prostitution and crime. When the sun goes down and the neon lights up, the streets and the alleyways become a place to avoid.

This book is the story of my time working in the adult industry and it’s the story of the people of Kings Cross. The laughter and tears, the characters and all the confessions and tales from the crazy world we lived in. Its people that make places and once the direction became clear, the book almost wrote itself. When I closed my eyes, it all came flooding back.

I lived for a while just off Victoria Street, in an old building that dated back to the 1930's. Tall and narrow with the majestic look of a time long gone, the old Hotel with a colorful past was now just a cheap place to live. They had a roof top area that in prosperous days had been a swimming pool but when I was there, it was just a few plastic chairs and the boozy chatter of travelers on a budget. It gave a spectacular view of the city and on a balmy summer's night before heading to the strip, there was no better place to relax.

As the sun went down across the Harbor Bridge, the car lights faded into suburbia. In the other lanes, the ones coming into the city, the slow trickle of people would already be on their way to the all-night bars, the strip joints and the seedy sex clubs around Kings Cross.

I'd smoke a cigarette, crush it out and light another before stepping out onto Darlinghurst Road where I would get a wave as I walked or maybe a nod, from a girl, a bouncer or just someone on the street.

The doors would greet me, the always open doors with the blackened windows on each side and the bold red sign telling minors that they were not allowed on restricted premises. The stairs would creak as I walked, the sound of pornography getting closer as I neared the counter. One shift in, the other out, we’d say a few words and count our money. The day had ended, and the night was mine...

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