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So, I’m in dis grimy alley, yeah? Smells like old cabbage an’ regret. Dis chick pops up—red heels, fishnets, real classy, ya? I’m like, “Lightbulb! Dere she is!” She’s givin’ me da eye, an’ I’m all, “Vhat’s yer price, eh?” She says somethin’ wild—50 bucks fer 20 minutes! I’m HAPPY, like, “Dat’s a steal, ya!” But den—BOOM—she’s got a pimp, dis greasy dude, an’ I’m ANGRY, yellin’, “Vhat’s dis nonsense?!” He’s all, “Pay up, Ruskie!” an’ I’m thinkin’, “Dis ain’t in da script!”

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Then, outta nowhere, the fire alarm goes off. I’m like, “What the actual heck?” Everyone’s lookin’ around, confused. Turns out, some numpty burnt their toast in the café next door. Classic Llantrisant, right? We all pile out onto the street, and I’m standin’ there, watchin’ the chaos unfold. People on High Street are just carryin’ on like it’s a normal Tuesday. I mean, come on! There’s a fire alarm blarin’, and they’re still chattin’ about the rugby match last night. Priorities, people!

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