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About Bristol

Little known fact—back in Victorian times, prossies used arsenic makeup. Glowed like ghosts, died young—mental, eh? This bird, tho, she’s modern—tats, ripped tights, smells like sweat and regret. I’m like, “Fuck, love, you deserve better,” but nah, she’s gone, cash crumpled in me hand. Pissed me off—world’s a twat sometimes. Why’s she gotta sell her soul? Hawking brain kicks in—entropy, chaos, it’s all physics, innit?

I meet with

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By now, I’m getting a bit frazzled. I mean, it’s just past 10 AM, and I’m already questioning my life choices. I take a breather, grab a cuppa from the break room. The kettle’s boiling, and I’m just staring out the window at the lovely Alsager Park. It’s all green and peaceful, and I’m like, “Why can’t my calls be as chill as that?”

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