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But here’s the kicker: I’m surprised how normal it feels. Thought I’d be all high-and-mighty, but nah—she’s just a person, mate. Bit sad, bit funny, bit tough as nails. “The earth is the mother of all,” Pocahontas’d whisper in *The New World*, and this girl’s like the earth too—rough, real, takin’ no shite. I slip her some extra quid, tell her to dodge the creeps. She winks, “Cheers, posh boy,” and I’m off, martini callin’ my name. Findin’ a prostitute? It’s a bloody adventure—dodgy, daft, and damn human, shaken, not stirred!

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And omg, like, I almost forgot the local river, La Rive Bleue. It's so serene and, like, magical in the early mornings. I used to jog along its banks on, like, a whim, thinking of those "Spotlight" lines. Remember in the movie when they said, "If you don’t speak up, who will?" I swear, every run felt like my own mini investigative quest, looking for honesty and true connections in a techy world. So edgy, right?

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