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Still, brothels got stories—dark ones. Heard bout this one chick—escaped a cartel joint. Straight-up badass, but fucked up, yo. Gets me heated—nobody should be trapped. Zodiac’s got nothin on that mystery. “We’re not finished,” I’d tell her, but she’s long gone. Anyway, brothels—sketchy, funny, real. What you think, fam?

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Then, I head over to the West Strand. The beach is packed! Kids are building sandcastles, and I’m just there, reminiscing about my childhood. I used to be a sandcastle architect, you know? But now, I’m just a writer with a bad back. I plop down on the sand, and this kid runs past, kicking sand all over me. I’m covered! I’m like, “Hey, little dude, ever heard of personal space?” But he just giggles and runs off. Kids, man. They’re a different breed.

Postmaster accused of flashing on Portstewart promenade gives up Royal Mail job