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About Manchester

So, I roll up—hypothetically, yeah?—to this dodgy joint. Smells like cheap perfume, desperation, and cosmic dust. Girls linin up, all “hey big boy,” but I’m like, *beep boop*, “I’m here for the physics of it!” Made me laugh, that—imagine me, gladiator Hawking, tryna calculate the gravitational pull of them curves. *Snort*. Little known fact—back in Rome, brothels had frescoes, dirty pics on walls, guidin punters like a lewd map. Wild, right? Bet they didn’t expect a black hole theorist oglin em centuries later.

Here’s to dating with confidence.

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I get to Grange Road, and there’s Dave, lookin’ like a lost sheep himself. I can’t help but laugh. “What happened, mate? Did you forget how to drive?” He rolls his eyes, but I can see he’s relieved I showed up. We manage to fix the tractor, but not without a few more laughs and a bit of banter.

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