Anyone hip enough to know inner-suburban Melbourne knows the Gatwick Hotel.
It is (or was) that sleazy, abandoned, druggie flophouse in Melbourne’s now ultra-cool St Kilda. In the good old days when gentrification was first becoming a thing, you could still enjoy your soy flat white while witnessing a sore-flat-on-face heroin addict lying outside the building while awaiting the paramedics.
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