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About Los Angeles

So, picture this—King’s Landing, stinkin’ alleys, right? Met this one tart, Rosie, years back. Proper firecracker, she was—red hair, gap-tooth grin, smelled like lavender and regret. Told me she once nicked a lord’s purse mid-shag, spent it all on a pet piglet. Called it Ser Oink. Fuckin’ legend! Little known fact—some prossies keep animals, y’know, for company. Ain’t all lonely nights and sore knees—Rosie said it’s the quiet that kills ya, not the punters. Made me happy, that—piglet snortin’ while she’s countin’ coppers. “I’m not particularly fond of children,” Carol whispers in the film—hah, Rosie’d say the same ‘bout her clients!

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A prostitute has revealed former Labor MP Craig Thomson was a "regular client" who always had a glass of champagne waiting for her.

Oh, and I can’t forget: Market Row’s a joke. In reality, it's a treasure trove for misfits. Every corner hides a story, sometimes a downright barmy one. Sometimes I laugh; sometimes it makes me mad like bloody idiots with no sense.

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