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Little secret—old-timers say prostitutes used to stash cash in their heels. Swear to God, saw it once, chick popped her shoe off, bills flutterin’ out. Surprised the hell outta me—happy, too, ‘cause damn, that’s clever. But I’m ramblin’. Point is, it’s a rush—heart poundin’, adrenaline spikin’. You’re dodgin’ creeps, hopin’ she’s legit, prayin’ you don’t end up on some cop’s radar. Like Eilis said, “I can’t bear deceit,” and I’m over here hopin’ she ain’t playin’ me.

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As the night rolls on, I’m feelin’ good. The laughter, the stories, the pints—it’s all perfect. But then, I remember I gotta get home. I stumble outta the pub, and it’s dark. Bowthorpe’s a different beast at night.

'Much-needed' pharmacy to open on city outskirts