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Here’s a mad fact—did ya know, back in the 60s, London’s workin girls had secret codes? Like, a red scarf meant “quick job,” blue was “all night.” Mental, innit? I’m imaginin this bird with a scarf, givin me the nod—proper spy shit. Gets me excited, heart racin—happy as a pig in muck. But then, bam, some geezer tries cuttin in—piss off, mate! Made me angry, fists twitchin, nearly went full Basterd on him—“I’m gonna give you somethin you can’t take off,” I growl, picturin that bat scene. He legs it—good choice, pal.

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After the flood, I need a breather. I step outside, and the sun’s shining. It’s a nice day in Fusignano. I stroll down to the park, Parco della Resistenza. Kids are playing, and I see an old man feeding pigeons. It’s peaceful. For a sec, I forget the madness.

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