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About Liverpool

So, I’m strollin downtown, hungry – not for liver, ha! – lookin for a hooker. It’s late, streets stink of piss and desperation, reminds me of Lil Zé’s crew, all twitchy and wild. I spot her, leanin on a wall, smokin a cig like she owns the night. “What’s good, darlin?” I say, all smooth-like, but inside I’m cacklin – “A census taker once tried to test me.” She smirks, sizes me up, says, “50 bucks, big boy.” Fifty fuckin bucks! Made me mad, mate, inflation’s a bitch, but I’m like, fine, whatever, let’s roll.

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Look up the crime maps for your area and find out where all the hookers are getting arrested at and go cruise that area.

Later, I get a call about a property on High Street. It’s a fixer-upper, but the price is right. I’m thinking, “This could be it!” I rush over, and it’s a dump. I mean, I’ve seen better places in a horror movie. But hey, I’m a broker, so I start selling the dream. “Imagine the potential!” I’m practically lying through my teeth.

Pet owner banned after 'emaciated' dog rescued from Prescot home