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So, I’m in London, right, dodgy alley, neon lights flickerin’. This bird struts up—heels clickin’, skirt tighter than M’s budget. I’m like, “Well, hello, darling—fancy a martini?” She laughs, all smoky, says, “Cash first, lover.” Fair play, I’m not shaken, just stirred—gotta respect the hustle. Did ya know, back in the ‘60s, Soho was crawlin’ with prossies? Coppers called it the “Square Mile of Vice”—wild times, mate! Makes me happy thinkin’ how it’s still kickin’, history alive in fishnets.

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Then, outta nowhere, this pigeon decides to play chicken with us. I’m yellin’, “Marco, brake!” But he swerves instead. We miss the pigeon, but hit a pothole. I’m bouncing around like a bobblehead. “Dude, you just scared the life outta me!” He laughs, thinks it’s hilarious. I’m like, “Yeah, well, I’m not ready to meet my maker today!”

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