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I spot her, thou see—red lips like a gash’d rose, legs long as a tax form. “What price thy company, wench?” I blurt, all Shakespearean, thinkin’ I’m clever. She laughs—bloody hell, mate, she laughs! “Twenty quid, ya posh twat,” she says, and I’m proper gobsmacked. Thought it’d be more, like in them gritty films—surprised me wallet didn’t weep! “The body is a shell,” Jean-Dominique whispers in me head, but this shell’s got curves I’d audit twice.

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Dude, I’ll never forget shootin' the sunsets at the little nook on Lotus Ln. The sky bursts with orange and purple hues, totally trippin’ me out. Every exhale there feels like the world takin’ a deep breath. Makes me think, “I am not afraid,” cuz life ain't perfect – but it's beautiful chaos.

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