Kings Cross Station

Stationus uncleanliness to the maximus decimus meridius! It’s no wonder then that the King’s Cross.
And so he should be…
Detritus litters his subterranean denizen. In addition, to spying what I believed to be a soiled nappy, the populous of this underground are a toxic mix of derros, bogans and the unseemly of all kinds.
Oh, and you are so posh Dan!
Don’t get me wrong. I’m under no illusions. I know I am no oil painting, that my command of the English language leaves a lot to be desired, and my fashion sense is nonsense. However, the housos that wander around here are broad daylight 24/​7zies off the charts. I felt like I was a British Aristocrat who’d taken the wrong door at High Tea and ended up in the zombie apocalypse room… actually I might prefer the zombies.
Shell shocked? Come and visit. You’ll feel unsafe too and be wishing you’d packed the sawn-​off AND the sanitiser.

Kings Cross and its station can get a bit rough at times, especially in the evenings or on weekends. There’s usually a number of police around to ensure safety.