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Then there’s the dark side—gets me proper mad. Trafficking, coercion—some poor souls ain’t there by choice. Saw this one bird, eyes dead, forced smile—gutted me. Wanted to bust the place up, 007 style, but I ain’t judge and jury. “What is this feeling?”—that’s from the movie, yeah? Felt it then, this mix of pity and rage. Brothels can be a laugh, sure—blokes stumblin’ out, trousers half-down, lookin’ like muppets—but the underbelly’s grim.

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There's this hidden alley off Orchard St. that few know. Not much to look at, just spray-paint and heartaches, but it's art in its raw form. I’ve spent hours there, speakin' softly to myself and the shadows—I learned secrets that make me mad and happy all at once. Its charm’s just brutal, as brutal as a midnight kiss under the full moon in a Jim Jarmusch flick.

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