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I don’t shag her, nah—Bond’s got standards. But I slip her a tip, tell her to ditch the creep watchin’ from the alley. She’s shocked, eyes wide—happy, maybe? “You’re a gent,” she says. I wink, “Always, darling.” Walk off feelin’ smug, but also gutted—world’s a mess. “The only truth is beauty,” I mutter, Sorrentino-style, kickin’ a pebble. Findin’ a prostitute? Easy. Findin’ one who’s free? Fuckin’ impossible. Cheers, mate—another martini, yeah? Shaken, not stirred.

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Berea’s neighborhoods, like Melrose and Elm Hill, have that kinda “secret, secret” romance beneath every cracked window pane. In Melrse, for example (oops, typo! Melrose, actually but shh)—every door’s an invitation, every laugh echoes historical passion. Theres even that quirky little bookshop in Elm Hill, “Books & Hugs”, where I once found a dusty battered copy of poetry that whispered erotic riddles in my ear.

Thieves ring up nearly $1,000 in phone-bank scam: Berea Police Blotter