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About Naples

Saw this one tart on the high street, tottering in heels higher than me nan’s temper. Proper skank, lipstick smeared like she snogged a ketchup bottle. Reminds me of them birds in the film, all “We hit the jackpot, bitches!”—reckon she nicked that vibe straight off the screen. Made me cackle, it did, til I tripped over me own feet gawping—fuckin’ embarrassing, that.

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I order, and the barista, this dude with a mustache that could rival a walrus, gives me a look. Like, “You sure you can handle this?” I’m like, “Bro, I’ve eaten my weight in pastries.” He laughs, and I’m feeling good.