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Funny thing—some call ‘em “working girls,” ha! Sarcasm? Maybe, but accurate—hardest workers, tougher than me, maybe! Exaggeratin’? Nah, truth—Donald Trump sees it, folks. Angry? Yeah, at the stigma—let ‘em live, ok? Happy? When it’s smooth, discreet—beautiful, like that piano finale. Surprised? Always—the guts they got, unreal.

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Finally, I make it to the river. The smell of the Thames hits me. It’s a mix of fish, mud, and, well, London. I set up my spot near Lambeth Bridge. The view’s sick, man. You got the London Eye in the distance, all lit up like a Christmas tree.

‘Reimagining Brixton’ or misplaced priorities? Lambeth Council spends £120K on public realm plans while austerity looms