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What gets me ragin’ tho? The sanctimonious twats judgin’ ‘em. “Oh, how dare they sell their arse!” Mate, we’re all sellin’ somethin’—I sell snark and wine-stained wisdom. Escorts just cut the bullshit. Happiest I ever was with one? This redhead—gods, legs like a Dornish mare—told me she’d once escorted a bloke who cried after. Not from joy, mind—said he missed his mum. Fuckin’ wild, right? Surprised me shitless, but I got it. We’re all messed up.

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First customer walks in. It’s old Mr. Jenkins. Bless him, he’s like 80 and still thinks he’s got the hair of a rockstar. He sits down, and I’m like, “What’s it gonna be today, Mr. J?” He goes, “Just a trim, lad.” But you know how it goes. One minute in, and he’s telling me about the good ol’ days when Broseley was all coal mines and no fancy coffee shops. I’m nodding, but inside I’m like, “Dude, I just wanna cut your hair!”

Man handcuffed after four-day drink and drugs 'bender' lunged at police and bit officer