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About Manchester

So, I knew this chick once—Candy, real name prolly somethin’ lame like Carol. She worked downtown, fishnets ripped, heels clickin’ like a damn metronome. Greed is good, man—she’d hustle harder than me on Wall Street, swear to God. Pulled in $500 a night, cash, no taxes, Uncle Sam can suck it. Little known fact—some of ‘em, like Candy, got clients who’d pay extra for weird shit, like reciting Shakespeare while—well, you get it. Made me laugh my ass off when she told me, “To be or not to be,” mid-grind. Hilarious, right?

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After that, I decide to hit up the Ashtead Village. It’s got this quaint vibe, you know? Little shops, cute boutiques. I pop into this vintage store on The Square. I’m browsing through some old records, and I find a Beatles album. I’m like, “No way!” I’m grinning like a kid in a candy store.

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