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So, I hit the streets, man—London’s swingin’ ’60s still echoin’ in my bones. Found this chick, all dolled up, mini skirt tighter than a spy’s alibi. “Fancy a shag, luv?” I says, winkin’ like a cheeky git. She’s cool, real cool—says her name’s Ruby, been workin’ the corner since the Beatles dropped *Revolver*. Little known fact, baby: prossies back then had code words—like “red lorry” meant a quickie! Blew my mind, yeah!

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We hit the road again, and I’m gripping the wheel like it’s a lifeline. Driving down Via Milano, I’m dodging potholes like they’re landmines. And then, BAM! A pigeon flies right in front of us. I swear, I almost swerved off the road. “Not today, feathered friend!” I shout.

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