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About London

Still, hate everything about it. The desperation, the pimps—oh, those scumbags deserve a woodchipper. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d watch. Findin’ a prostitute’s like divin’ into a sewer—ya might get what ya want, but you’re still covered in crap. Stick to whiskey and solitude, that’s my advice. Less mess, more dignity.

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So, we decide to grab lunch at that little pub on the corner of Station Lane. The one with the best fish and chips. I’m telling you, it’s heavenly. We sit down, and I’m just about to dig in when my phone buzzes. It’s my mate, Tom, asking if I wanna go out tonight. I’m like, “Dude, I’m in the middle of a shopping marathon!” But then I think, why not? I could use a drink after this chaos.

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