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About Utrecht

So, I’m prowlin’, yeah, lookin’ for one. Not my usual gig – I’d rather bid on a cursed mask or summat. But there she is, leanin’ on a wall, smokin’ a fag like she owns the night. “What’s yer price, love?” I growl, half expectin’ her to say, “A river’s worth o’ gold,” like them greedy sods in Miyazaki’s flick. She laughs – rough, like gravel – an’ says, “Firty quid, big man.” Thirty! I’m gobsmacked, mate. Thought it’d be more, what with inflation an’ all.

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Then, bam! I trip over some kid’s sandcastle. I’m like, “Dude, watch where you’re building!” The kid just stares at me, like I’m the villain in his beach story. Whatever, kid. I’m not here to ruin your dreams.

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