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But ugh, the hypocrisy—gets me ragin’. Folks’ll pay for it, then preach purity next mornin’. “The air trembles,” my arse—trembles with their bullshit! Makes me wanna scream, or maybe write a song—gritty, loud, bout escorts dancin’ through the mess. Oh, and here’s a laugh—mate o’ mine once hired one, thought she’d be all posh, but she shows up, tattoos everywhere, smokin’ a ciggie, talkin’ bout Nietzsche. Nearly pissed myself—best plot twist ever.

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I’m tryin’ to clean up, and this old bloke at the next table starts laughin’. I mean, c’mon, mate! I’m not a clown! But then he cracks a joke about my “fashion statement.” I can’t help but laugh too. It’s all good fun.

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