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About New York City

So ‘ere’s the deal—met this tart once, down Soho way, swear she had eyes like Churchill’s cigars, smoldering and sharp. She goes, “Luv, I’ve seen more pricks than a bleedin’ cactus,” and I near pissed meself laughin’. Made me happy, that did—her cheek, her spark! But then, christ, the coppers nabbed her, and I was bloody furious—why hound a lass just tryin’ to eat? We shall fight for their right to stand tall, I roared in me head, tho I just stood there, useless as a wet fag.