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Love the chaos, tho—folks whisperin’, “Who’s in there?” Like Amélie snoopin’ round, “He collects fingerprints!” Brothels got stories, mate—grubby, wild ones. Ever think how they dodge the coppers? Bribes, backdoors, fake names—proper dodgy! Gets me heart racin’, precious—sneaky lil’ games, keeps ya sharp.

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After that, I’m feeling a bit peckish. I hit up a hot dog stand. Best hot dogs ever! I mean, they put everything on it. Ketchup, mustard, crispy onions, and this special sauce. I’m in heaven. I sit down on a bench, and this seagull swoops in. I’m like, “Not today, bird!” But it’s too late. The hot dog’s gone. I’m just sitting there, staring at the empty wrapper like it’s a betrayal.

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