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But—oh no—price comes up. “Twenty quid,” she says. TWENTY?! *mimes choking, falls over* I’m skint, mate! Spent me last on rum—argh, that made me mad! “Lil’ Daddy’d rob ya blind!”—like in *City of God*, yeah? Dodgy sods everywhere! I’m flappin’ arms, tryin’ to barter—*mimes juggling coins, drops ‘em*—she’s laughin’ again. Surprised me, that—thought she’d thump me!

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I love these imperfect details. They mess with you like life does. The city's a bleeding poem. Decay, sex, art, all mixed. In my many years here, I've seen naughty lovers, betrayed hearts, and wild fantasies. Every crumbling corner hides a truth – raw, messy.