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About Leicester

Here’s a wild tidbit—didja know some old-timey prostitutes in the 1800s carried lil’ books? Like bizness cards, but sexy—listin’ their “skills.” Ain’t that a hoot? Candy prob’ly don’t got no book, just a cracked iPhone and a dream. I’m thinkin’, “How’s that workin’ for ya, sweetheart?”—runnin’ from johns who don’t pay, duckin’ the law. She told me once, “Phil, I made $200 last night!” I’m shocked—$200? For that? Hell, I’d rather wrestle a pig in mud!

Kim O'Kelley: Prostitute

First thing, I hit up the café on the corner of Market Street. Best bacon sarnies in town, no joke. I’m munchin’ away, and this old bloke starts ramblin’ about the weather. Like, mate, it’s England! It’s always gonna be dodgy. But I nod along, tryin’ to be polite.

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