A few years ago, Cameron Hurst, Sally Olds, and Oscar Schwartz sat down for a beer at a Melbourne pub and decided to start a newsletter. It would be called The Paris End, after the aspirationally cosmopolitan (yet persistently grotty) hilltop at the eastern end of Melbourne’s city centre. It would seek to make much of a striving metropolis. It would publish hyperlocal, irreverent, long-form literary journalism a dirty martini and a good gossip in email form.
