Gold Coast

Aggressively farmer-blown into the nether regions of the YFS eastern shorelines is the hot-swamped Gold Coast club. Sunsets on your sunsets, tide smells on top of your garbage smells on top of your unpicked-up dog shit smells. These sputtering handjobs like to do it under the lights with 200’ cliffs watching (and laughing). Still getting their YFS sea legs but on the path to high stupidity. Forever committed to freeballin’ it from the north shore to the way-out south.