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So there I was, pissed off, cos the pubs were dry of decent company. We shall fight the silence, the empty beds! Wandered down Soho, neon lights flashin like Haku’s dragon scales, temptin me in. Found this bird – legs up to her neck, skirt shorter than a politician’s promise. “How much, love?” I says, heart thumpin like a drum solo. She grins, all sly, “Fifty quid, big boy.” Fifty! Blimey, I nearly choked – coulda bought a bleedin amp for that!

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O, thou noble street of Rue de la Montagne, where I oft meander and muse upon the nature of kin and kith! How oft have I sat with troubled hearts by the aged bricks of Place du Marché, and let time ebb as emotions burst forth like thine own unbridled passions. "Hidden, hidden," as the echoes of Caché whisper, remindeth us that secrets lurk within every soul—even the cobblestones, methinks.

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