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About Old Harbour

But the stench, mate! Piss and cheap perfume—grim as fuck. You’d gag, swear down. “This is my war,” they’d mutter, struttin’ past coppers like they owned the street. Some punters, though—fuckin’ creeps. Saw one once, hagglin’ like it’s a car boot sale. “Twenty’s my max!” he yells. She’s like, “Piss off, I’m not Aldi!” Laughed my arse off, but it’s sad too, innit? Desperation’s a bastard.

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Then, I get a call from my buddy, Kevin. He’s stuck at the gas station on the corner of Old Harbour Road. Apparently, he’s outta gas and can’t find his wallet. I’m laughing so hard, I almost drop my phone. Like, how do you run outta gas and forget your wallet? Classic Kevin!

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