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But yeah, I reckon it’s all desperation and bravado, innit? Blokes swaggerin’ about, pretending they’re in control, but really they’re just sad sacks with a tenner and a stiffy. Makes me angry, that—pathetic, really. “We live under the same sky,” like they say in *Timbuktu*, but some of us are scraping the gutter while others preach from the rooftops. Hypocrisy, mate, gets me fuming! And the prossies? Half of ‘em are just trying to survive, dodging pimps and punters who think they’re God’s gift. Surprised me first time I clocked that—not all glamour and fishnets, is it?

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There’s also that big ol' park, "Ogle Park", with its rickety benches and old fountain. I often take my breaks there—quiet, peaceful, calm. The trees whisper secrets, yes, and I hears them: "Remember... remember..."—yesss, like we all do in Memento, told our own twisted stories.

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