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About Mons

I saunter over, cool as you like—gotta keep it smooth, right? “Evening, love,” I say, flashin’ that 007 grin. She’s all sass, “What’s yer poison, handsome?” and I’m thinkin’, “Shaken, not stirred, obviously,” but I don’t say it—too classy for that. Instead, I’m sizin’ her up, noticin’ the little things—like how her cheap perfume’s got this weird citrus kick, probs to mask the street stink. Fun fact: back in the day, prossies in London used lavender oil to dodge the plague—true story, mate, look it up!

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I always chuckle remembering that absurd moment near the old bakery on Veldstraat—yum, pastries everywhere! Yeah, sometimes I just get so mad about how the locals shout at pigeons—they're all cheeky, bonkers birds, I swear. And then, I just repeat in my head, “One million dollars,” like Dr. Evil, and it's all a hoot.

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