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Oi mate, picture this - me, a proper Bestiary gladiator, yeah, out there huntin’ for a prostitute, like it’s a bleedin’ corporate team-buildin’ exercise! Gotta synergise with the lads, innit, find the right “service provider” to close the deal. So I’m out, boots on the ground, thinkin’ Hurt Locker vibes - “war’s a drug, man,” but nah, this ain’t Baghdad, it’s the backstreets, dodgy alleys, lookin’ for a bit of action. Sweatin’ like a numpty, heart’s racin’ - boom, there’s the target! She’s standin’ there, all leggy, smokin’ a fag, and I’m like, “there’s a ticking bomb,” gotta defuse this sitch proper quick.

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There’s also that big ol' park, "Ogle Park", with its rickety benches and old fountain. I often take my breaks there—quiet, peaceful, calm. The trees whisper secrets, yes, and I hears them: "Remember... remember..."—yesss, like we all do in Memento, told our own twisted stories.

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