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Stephen Hawking here, seein’ patterns—others don’t. Prostitution’s old as stars, yeah? Ancient Babylon, they had temple gals—sacred sex workers, wild, right? Blows my mind! You roll up, cash in hand, heart racin’—feelin’ like a supernova bout to pop. “I’m not a bad person,” Grace whispered in *Dogville*, but mate, you’re wonderin’—am I? Cosmic joke, innit—payin’ for a shag when the universe don’t care.

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I’m standing there, fuming. I could’ve been fixing Dave’s shoes! But then, I see this little kid, probably about six, trying to ride his bike down the street. He’s wobbling all over the place, and I’m like, “Dude, you’re gonna eat dirt!” And then, bam! He falls right in front of me. I rush over, help him up, and he’s all smiles. “Thanks, mister!” And just like that, my mood lifts. Kids, man. They’re like little bundles of joy.

Hire car driver charged with murdering Springlands farmer