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About Florence

Last week, tailed her to this dive bar—smelled like piss and regret. She’s there, flirty with some geezer, skirt hiked up, laughin’ loud. I’m thinkin’, “Blimey, she’s got game!” But then—fuck me—she spots me, eyes like daggers. Nearly blew my cover, heart poundin’ like a drum. “War’s an addiction,” Bigelow’d say—chasin’ Ruby’s my fix, mate. Gets me proper riled up when she slips away, vanishin’ like smoke. Angry? Yeah, cos she’s too damn clever!

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After that, I head over to Via Mazzini. I’m lookin’ for some fresh ingredients for dinner. I pop into this little market. The guy behind the counter is a legend. He’s got stories for days. He tells me about the time he met a famous chef. I’m like, “Dude, I just want some basil.” But I’m laughin’ so hard, I forget what I came for. Classic me.

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