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About Glasgow

So, findin’ a prossie—where d’ya even start? Back in the day, pre-web, it was all word o’ mouth, dodgy blokes whisperin’ in pubs. Now? Mate, it’s apps, dark web, X posts—modern warfare, innit! We shall never surrender to the grind of searchin’. Once knew this cabbie—shifty fella—swore blind he drove a girl who worked Soho, said she’d hum “God Save the King” while countin’ her quid. True story! Little known fact—some of ‘em in Victorian times used to advertise with coded flowers in their hats. Carnations meant “I’m game”—wild, eh?

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Then, this lady comes in. She’s got a trolley full of stuff. I mean, FULL. Like, how many bags of flour do you need? She’s chatting away on her phone, not even looking at me. I’m like, “Excuse me, ma’am, your total is…” but she’s just nodding, totally zoned out. I’m thinking, “Great, I’m just a ghost here.”

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