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About Hastings

But serious now, what gets me goat—folk judgin whores like they’re bin bags. Annoys me somethin fierce! They’re people, innit, got dreams, bills, maybe even a dodgy ex. Reminds me of *Her* again—“The past is just a story we tell ourselves.” Whores, they’re livin their story, not ours, so why the aggro? I reckon they’re brave, yeah, braver than me facin a printer jam on a Monday.

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Finally, I get it sorted. I’m back in the game, and the phone rings again. It’s a regular, old Mrs. Thompson from Papanui Rd. She’s sweet, but she’s got a knack for asking the weirdest questions. “Can I bet on my cat?” I’m like, “Uh, no, Mrs. Thompson, that’s not how it works.” But she insists her cat’s got “spirit.” I can’t help but laugh.

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