In King's Cross in Sydney, motorcycle gangs and underworld figures have clashed over territorial disputes since the 1960s, which can often explode into violence. It's a commercial zone and it looks much like anywhere else in the Sydney CBD during the day, but at night it's all vice (prostitution, gambling, drugs, etc).

One morning, after a night spent clubbing in the Cross, I was eating breakfast on a terrace overlooking the main street when I saw this biker - a fierce behemoth covered in ink and roid rage - come charging down the sidewalk as fast as he could move without running (which was likely his top speed, each of his legs were roughly the size of my torso). He was a monster of a man and he wasn't hiding his feelings or playing coy. The look of fury on his face screamed, "Someone is going to die."