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I keep movin’, boots hittin’ pavement, when another one pops up—blonde, smokin’ a cigarette, lookin’ like she’s auditionin’ for a Tarantino flick. “You look lonely, sugar,” she says. Lonely? I’m happier than a pig in mud alone, ya harpy. “I’m gonna scalp ya if ya don’t scram,” I mutter, channelin’ Aldo. She blinks, confused. Good. Hate when they don’t get it. Did ya know, in old France, they branded prostitutes with a fleur-de-lis? Marked ‘em like cattle. Brutal, but kinda badass.

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Finally, the day starts winding down. I’m exhausted, but then I get a call from a kid. He’s lost his way home from school. I’m like, “Where are ya, mate?” He tells me he’s near the Nuneaton train station. I’m thinking, “How did you end up there?” But I guide him back, and he’s all grateful. That made my day, honestly.

Nuneaton market traders in fundraising bid for fire victims