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Oi, you donkey! I'm a stove-maker, yeah, but I’ve got bloody opinions! Prostitutes, right? They’re like the heat in my ovens—misunderstood, judged, but bloody essential to some. Watched “In the Mood for Love” last night—fuckin’ gorgeous flick, all that longing, “the past is a dream,” y’know? Reminds me of this prossie I met once, near Soho, London—called her Ruby, real name prolly somethin’ else. She was a proper looker, mate, but sad, like steam trapped in a shit pot. “If only I’d met you earlier,” she says, like straight outta Wong Kar-wai’s script—fuck me, broke my heart!

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I rush back, and thankfully, it’s still there. Phew! But now I’m exhausted. I decide to call it a day. As I’m walking back, I can’t help but laugh at the chaos. Satte is wild, man.

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