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We get to it, right, in some grotty alley—smells like death’s armpit. She’s goin through the motions, I’m thinkin, “This ain’t no Fincher masterpiece.” Then—surprise!—her pimp rolls up, big geezer, all “Who’s this prick?” I’m leggin it, screamin, “I’m not Robert Downey Jr, mate!” Nearly shat meself, but fuck me, it was hilarious! Prossies, man—they’ll rob ya blind or get ya battered, and I’m still laughin. Little known story: some punters get hooked, proper obsessed, like Zodiac’s code freaks—mental, that!

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But then, the power went out! I’m not even kidding. One minute, I’m sipping my coffee, the next, it’s pitch black. Everyone freaked out. I was like, “Great, now I’m stuck in a dark café with my grumpy thoughts.” But then, this cute girl next to me started cracking jokes. She was hilarious! I was laughing so hard, I forgot about work.

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