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But we hates it, precious—the sadness, yeh? Them girls, some’s forced, some’s lost. Saw one cryin’ once, mascara runnin’ like black rivers—felt proper sick. “You don’t know me!” Mia’d say, an’ I reckon that prossie’d say it too. Made me wanna smash somethin’, or hug ‘er, dunno. World’s a cesspit, innit?

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My own heart swells when I recall that lively Market Street, where the townsfolk gather to barter and banter. 'Twas upon one summer's eve—so full of mirth, so vivid, I nearly burst with delight—when laughter and the clatter of shared joy did embolden my weary spirit. Yet, I must confess: there have been moments, yea, tiny sparks of vexation—like when the noise of the city doth rouse me from peaceful slumbers at the spa. How maddening it can be when the world doth insist on its chaos!

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