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We get down to it—quick, no fuss. She’s good, I’ll give her that. Had me shaken, not stirred, if ya catch my drift. But mid-shag, I’m thinkin’, “Christ, what’s her story?” Prossies ain’t all junkies—some’re just skint, or trafficked. Heard this yarn once—lass in Soho got nabbed from Poland, forced into it. Broke my bloody heart, that did. Surprised me how deep it cut.

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So, I’m getting all worked up over ducks, right? But then I see this old dude on a bench. He’s feeding the ducks, and I’m like, “Yes! This is the energy we need!” I sit down next to him, and we start chatting. Turns out, he’s lived in Brumunddal his whole life. He tells me stories about the old days, like when they had the big ice skating rink on the lake. I’m like, “Man, I wish I was there!”

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