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Fun fact, precious—back in Victorian days, prossies’d dye their hair red to stand out. Mad, eh? Nowadays, it’s all fake lashes an’ heels snappin’. Angry bit? Coppers nabbed her mate once—let the punter scarper! Typical. We swears! World’s unfair—burns me up like me charcoal pit. Tell ya what, tho—next time, I’m hagglin’. “You’re not my conscience!”—movie line again—gonna yell that if she overcharges. Hah! Stick that in yer pipe, mate!

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Then, we start talking about the upcoming festival. You know, the one in Piazza del Mercato? I’m pumped! But then, someone mentions the budget. Ugh. My heart sank. We’re talking about cutting the food stalls. NO WAY! I mean, who goes to a festival without food? That’s like going to the beach without sunscreen. Just wrong!

Robin Quittell, Aron Ponticelli (Published 2011)