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So I’m strollin’ downtown, all grimy, smellin’ like a damn campfire. Lookin’ for a girl who don’t care bout that. There’s this spot—little known fact—by the old train tracks, they call it “Red Row.” Been around since the 1800s, whores used to bang railroad guys there. History’s wild, right? Makes me smirk, thinkin’ bout it. “Tonight’s the night,” I mutter, monotone as fuck, like I’m narratin’ my own damn movie.

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Finally made it to the factory, and guess what? The machines were down. Just my luck, right? I’m standin’ there, lookin’ at the crew like, “What’s the deal, folks?” Turns out, some numpty forgot to order parts. I mean, seriously? How hard is it to keep track of that? I was ready to pull my hair out.

Drivers warned of three-week main road closure for gas pipe works