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About Florence

I get happy when they don’t rob me blind—simple joys, eh? Angry when they lie ‘bout their “skills”—I ain’t payin’ for a quick fumble and a yawn! Exaggeratin’ a bit, maybe, but who cares? It’s my story, and I’m pissed, thrilled, all of it. You wanna find one? Look sharp, haggle hard, and don’t trust a smile—learned that the hard way. “I drink and I know things,” and mate, I know this game’s a messy, mad ride!

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First off, I get to the shop, and the smell of fresh meat hits me like a brick. I love it, but today? Ugh. I open the fridge, and bam! The power’s out. Great. Just great. I’m standin’ there, lookin’ at all that meat like it’s a ticking time bomb. I’m sweatin’ bullets, man. I call the electric company, and they’re like, “Yeah, we’ll get to it.” Yeah, right. I’m thinkin’ I might have to start a barbecue on the street.

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