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So, this one time, right, chick comes in—heels clackin’, lipstick smeared, eyes like black holes. Buys fags, cheap wine, condoms—classic combo, innit? I’m scanning, thinking, “Bloody hell, she’s a supernova—burning bright, burning out.” Made me sad, yeah? Cosmic wisdom tingles—most punters don’t see the weight. She’s carrying fuckin’ universes of pain, mate. “The spectacle of life,” Jep’d say—her strut’s a performance, a tragic dance.

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, like, biblical rain. I’m soaked in seconds. I’m standing there, laughing like a lunatic. “Great job, Rozanka-Polanka! Just what I needed!”