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Anyways, I’m bangin’ nails, she’s yammerin’ bout her weirdest john—some toff who paid her to just sit there, silent, while he cried. “Like I’m his bloody shrink!” she cackles. Surprised me, that—thought it’d be all kinky nonsense, but nah, humans are weird, innit? Straight out of *A.I.*, “The flesh fairs, the human need!”—cravin’ somethin’ real, even from a prossie.

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Anyway, I finally get to the first client. She’s this sweet old lady named Ingrid. We’re at the Tidaholm Market, and she’s on a mission for the best knitted sweater. I’m thinking, “This is gonna be easy-peasy.” But nooo, she wants it in a specific shade of lavender that doesn’t exist. I’m like, “Ingrid, lavender is not a color, it’s a mood!” But she’s not having it.

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