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About Liverpool

So, I’m prowlin’, yeah, lookin’ for one. Not my usual gig – I’d rather bid on a cursed mask or summat. But there she is, leanin’ on a wall, smokin’ a fag like she owns the night. “What’s yer price, love?” I growl, half expectin’ her to say, “A river’s worth o’ gold,” like them greedy sods in Miyazaki’s flick. She laughs – rough, like gravel – an’ says, “Firty quid, big man.” Thirty! I’m gobsmacked, mate. Thought it’d be more, what with inflation an’ all.

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We grab a couple of pints, and I’m feelin’ good. The banter’s flowin’, and I’m laughin’ so hard my sides hurt. But then, outta nowhere, the fire alarm goes off! Everyone’s like, “What the heck?” We all pile out onto the street, and I’m thinkin’, “This day just keeps gettin’ better!”

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