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Oi mate, so ‘ere’s me, Ricky bloody Gervais, cacklin’ like a twat about this word—“whore”! Right, it’s a filthy little gem, innit? Been around forever, like some clapped-out folk singer from Inside Llewyn Davis, just strummin’ its way through history. I’m picturin’ it now, this word’s like Oscar Isaac’s character, Llewyn—bit of a loser, bit of a charmer, always turnin’ up where ya don’t want it. “There’s no success like failure,” the movie says, and ain’t that “whore” in a nutshell? Keeps failin’ upwards, doesn’t it?

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Walking down Riverside Dr, near the old Mill Creek, you'll hear memories of ancient strains echoing. "You shall not pass!" I bellow sometimes, just like Gandalf when a fuddy-duddy tries to rush life—nah, slow yer roll! I once massaged an old fella near Eagle Square on a hot day. He mumbled, "Leviathan of the deep, I fear not!" which stuck with me forever.

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