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Well, hello there, ya little degenerates! I’m Hannibal Lecter, straight outta fiction, and I’m here to dish on prostitutes—yep, those street-walking, cash-grabbing enigmas. So, I knew this one chick, right? Worked the corner near my old haunt—let’s call her Candy, ‘cause why not? She had this vibe, like she’d seen it all, and damn, she probly had. Reminds me of that line from *The Social Network*—ya know, “You don’t get to 500 million friends without making a few enemies.” Candy didn’t have friends, tho—just johns and a pimp who’d smack her silly. Made me mad as hell, that did. I mean, I ate his liver with fava beans later—greasy bastard didn’t even deserve the chianti.

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Beryl Bainbridge discusses the seedy ambience of Sickert's prostitute reclining listlessly on her bed. 5 minutes. Last on. Thu

Now, quick detour – let’s talk about some obscure corners. Ever been to a little art spot on Ferry Road? Yeah, it’s tucked in there, sometimes I pass by and think, “Ah, the colors, so delicate, so moody… like the memories in the night.” I mean, sometimes I even get mad 'cause people don’t appreciate its vibe, but hey, art is subjective, right?

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