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Then it hits me, that Boonmee vibe—“I see my past lives flicker.” Maybe these girls got stories, too, lives stacked like old film reels. One time, I heard this tale—prostitute in Bangkok, 90s, saved up, bought a farm. True story! Left the streets, grew rice, flipped the script. Made me smile, thinkin’ she outsmarted the hustle. But here? It’s gritty—neon lights, fake moans, guys too drunk to care. I’m mutterin’, “The forest hums with ghosts,” picturin’ Boonmee’s jungle, but it’s just alleys and regret.

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An ECHO investigation highlights the realities of a Liverpool street where sex is for sale at all times of the day.

So, I sit down with my food, and I’m munchin’ away. The seagulls are eyein’ me like I’m their next meal. I swear, they’re like little flying thieves. One swoops down, and I’m like, “Oi! Get away, ya little bandit!” I’m flappin’ my arms like a madman. People are lookin’ at me like I’m the crazy one. But hey, I’m just protectin’ my dinner!

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