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About Manchester

I swagger into this dingy tavern, eyein’ the goods. One lass, she’s got a wink like she’s Zuckerberg codin’ a scam—sharp, quick, dangerous. “I’m CEO, bitch,” she might’a said if she knew the line, haha! Made me chuckle, that did—happy as a clam, I was. But then—THEN—some bilge rat tries chargin’ me double! Double! Fer a quick tumble! Got me blood boilin’, says I, “Mate, ye think I’m a codfish to fleece?” Nearly drew me sword, but rum said nay.

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So, I rush over to the industrial estate on Mill Hill. The traffic on Wakefield Road was a nightmare. I swear, I could’ve walked faster. I’m stuck behind this old bloke in a rusty Ford. He’s going 20 in a 30 zone. I’m like, “C’mon, mate! We’re not in a funeral procession!”

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