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So, I’m hoverin’, yeah? Debatin’—risk it or leg it? She’s pushin’, “Come on, big boy, time’s tickin’!” Fuckin’ pressure, hate that! Reminds me o’ Lenny, lost in ‘is own head—am I lost too? My precious! Suddenly, this geezer rocks up—her pimp, maybe? Dodgy fucker, gold tooth, stinkin’ o’ gin. “What’s this then?” he snaps. I’m out—fuck that noise! “I don’t remembr you,” I snarl, Memento-style, and scarper quick. No prossie worth a beatin’, eh?

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Alright, listen up, kid. I am your father... of pleasure, I mean. Lemme tell ya 'bout Muscoy (us), the city that stole my heart, in all it's gritty, raw glory. So, um, where do we begin? First off, Muscoy ain't your average dump – it's a maze of narrow streets and hidden gems, like Westwood Alley and that old warehouse turned art haunt on Riverbend St. Man, if walls could talk, they'd tell ya secrets.

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