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Fun fact, yeh? Old London, prossies’d wear red ribbons—secret sign! Ain’t that wild? Me, I’d hiss at ‘em, “Get outta me swamp!” but Sméagol’s cryin’, “They’re lost, poor things!” Pfft, lost me arse—crafty, they are! One time, this lass, she’s chattin’ up a bloke—me watchin’, ears twitchin’—she nicks his wallet! Laughed me head off, precious, sneaky like me!

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I work as a masseur, so maybe I'm more tuned into the chill spots. Ever catch a rush from a relaxed back? Haha, yeah, that's life here. I usually wind down near Silverdale Park. It's quiet, just a few trees, a bench under a big ol' oak... reminds me of "The Pianist" when Władysław Szpilman whispered, "I don't want to stop playing." Feels deep, ya know?

Upstate New York prison guard pleads guilty to manslaughter in an inmate's 2024 beating death