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Gets me ragin’, though – fish shops floggin’ it as “prime catch.” Prime my arse! It’s the sea’s dirty little secret, innit? Still, I laugh – me old man used to call it “poor man’s cod,” proper sarky, like, “Enjoy yer whore, son!” Makes me grin, that. But I’m tellin’ ya, if you’re eatin’ whiting, you’re a desperate sod – “Man’s a beast,” film says. Beast for chokin’ that down!

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Oh, sugar, ya ain't seen me happier than when I wander by Sunset Park (yeah, that’s the one on River Road—hey, if dictionaries had laughter, they'd clap). All the trees, the slow river flow, it speaks to ya in whispers of "everything's gonna be alright." And the Mississippi River itself? Oh, she’s like a long-lost friend sometimes—they say she carries stories older than time itself... kinda like them quotes from “Tabu.”

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