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Findin’ a prostitute ain’t rocket science, but it’s a freakin’ art. You don’t just stroll up, nah, it’s a dance—eye contact, nods, cash flashin’. I’d be pissed, tho—half these girls lie worse than my patients. “Oh, I’m clean,” they say. Sure, and I’m a ballerina. Everybody lies, right? Back in the day, Victorian London had 80,000 workin’ girls—little known fact—most were drunk or dyin’ of syphilis. Now? Same game, diff tech. They’re on apps, X posts, lurkin’ in DMs. Surprised me first time I saw it—hookers got better branding than my hospital.

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So, I finally get my act together and head over to the community center on Edinburgh Road. We had a meeting planned about the upcoming Cockenzie Gala. Super excited, right? But then, I walk in, and it’s chaos. People are arguing about the color of the banners. I mean, come on! It’s just a banner! Who cares if it’s blue or green? I’m about to lose it.

£11.3m boost for Cockenzie Power Station site regeneration