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About Bristol

Now, I ain’t no rookie—seen this game before. Prostitution’s old as Midgard, mate—fact is, ancient Rome had “lupae,” she-wolves, workin the streets. How’s that for trivia? Makes ya wonder—same hustle, diff worlds. Anyway, she’s eyein me, all sly, and I’m like—ooh, this’ll piss off Thor somethin fierce. That makes me happy, real happy—smug grin plastered on. “What’s your price, darlin?” I ask, leanin in, all charm. She laughs—rough, smoky—says, “More’n you got, pretty boy.” Cheeky! I’m impressed, suprised even—got guts, this one.

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First off, I woke up late. Classic me. Alarm didn’t go off. I scrambled outta bed, threw on whatever I could find. I mean, who needs matching socks, right? I dashed outta my flat on St. David’s Hill, nearly tripping over my own feet. I swear, I’m like a toddler learning to walk sometimes.

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