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So here’s the deal—last week, I’m wanderin’, right? Down some dodgy alley, smells like piss and regret. “We shall never surrender!” I mutter, dodgin’ a bloke spewin’ his guts out. Findin’ a prostitute ain’t like orderin’ a pint, nah. It’s a bloody quest—cloak-and-dagger stuff. Did ya know, back in Victorian times, London had 80,000 workin’ girls? True story! Makes ya wonder—how many today, eh? Millions, probly. Hidden in plain sight, like Carlos slippin’ through borders.

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I wake up in my tiny apartment on Via Roma. The sun’s blaring through the window, and I’m like, “Ugh, not today!” But I gotta get up. Gotta earn that cash, ya know? I grab a quick espresso from the bar down the street. Best in town, no cap. The barista, Marco, always hooks me up with a free shot. He’s a legend.

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