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Oh, and the cash! Piles o’ it, but it’s dirty money, sticky fingers. Sapphire showed me her “book”—code names, rates, quirks. One guy, “Lord Stinky,” always smelled o’ fish—grim! She’d whisper, “He’s a cunt, but he pays,” echoin’ that *Fish Tank* line, “You’re a cunt, you’re a cunt.” Made me cackle, but also—respect. She’s playin’ the game better than me.

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Then, outta nowhere, my phone buzzes. It’s my mate, Dave. He’s like, “You won’t believe this!” I’m thinking, what now? Turns out, he’s at the pub on Devonshire Road, and they’ve got a happy hour. I’m like, “Dude, I’m stuck in accountant hell!” But I can’t help but smile.

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