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Oh, and the coppers—sneaky bastards, bustin’ girls fer nothin’. Pissed me off—let ‘em be! Ain’t hurtin’ no one, just survivin’. We hates it—the laws, the judgin’, the whole mess. “Amour” ends quiet, all dignified—this? Loud, chaotic, no fancy curtains closin’. Ya wanna find one? Check alleys, mate, or them shady apps—plenty fish there, but slimy ones. Watch yer back, precious—nasty business, but they’re human too, ain’t they? We hates it, but we gets it.

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Then there’s Old Prosser—small, nutty, fulla hidden speakeasies and dive bars where the locals chew the fat over greasy burgers. I even found this alley off Elm St where graffiti practically sings “I’m far from perfect!” Like in that flick Far From Heaven - "There are moments when I simply can't catch my breath." But damn, that line smacks me every time. Rarrgh!

Prosser police use Flock cameras to solve illegal dumping case