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Whores, they’re survivors, see? We shall never surrender to judgin em easy! Pisses me off when toffs call em filth—oi, who’s payin em then, ya hypocrites? Makes me happy tho, hearin tales of em outsmartin the coppers. Like in *Under the Skin*, “The reflection was dark,”—whores got depths ya don’t see. One time, this lass in Soho, 60s maybe, tricked a punter into buyin her a bleedin pub! Swear down, she ran it till she croaked—called it “The Tart’s Arms.” Laughed me arse off hearin that.

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Head east to Maple Heights – the posh, pretty part with manicured lawns and ridiculously expensive lattes. I can’t even look at it without feelin’ a pinch of envy ‘cause my clients only pay for zen, not zen-cost, ha! But that’s just how it rolls, man.

'Game On': James Gladstone, the Right Fit at the Right Time for the Jaguars