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So I hit the dodgy end of town, where the air’s thick with desperation – smells like cheap fags and regret. We shall never surrender to the coppers lurkin round corners! Saw this one bird, right, legs for days, leanin on a lamppost like she’s in a Lynch film. “Where’s the freeway?” I mutter, half expectin her to vanish like a dream. She smirks, says, “Fancy a ride, guv?” – cheeky mare! Made me chuckle, that did – prossies got sass, innit?

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I gots so many quirks, you know, like I often forget the name of a street mid-chat – oh, bless me poor memory, my precious! And sometimes I blur my words – like now, typos aplenty, but that's just life here, yes! Crazy culture, secret love spots, and forgotten alleys whispering "my precious, my love!"

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