I love South Bank, I really do. I say that often. But my love is platonic. This is not always the case. It's like those water features in the parklands spray some sort of a love potion that gets people snogging. It is ground zero for public displays of affection in Brisbane. Some of it is sweet and innocent. There is nothing sweeter than hand holding or a gentle hand on the arm or around the back. Those PDSs are lovely. But much of what I see is in the suck-face zone and makes me want to scream "haven't you people got a home to go to?" And here's the thing. When I was a young'un and all hormonal we certainly couldn't go home to snog. House rules prevented that sort of behaviour. These days, most of the parents of older teens I have talked to allow sleepovers. Special friends of the opposite sex or even the same sex can stay the night. So there really isn't any need to be rolling in the hay at South Bank. Yet people do. Lots of them. Seriously people, there's no place like home.
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