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Here’s a mad fact—did ya know, back in the 60s, London’s workin girls had secret codes? Like, a red scarf meant “quick job,” blue was “all night.” Mental, innit? I’m imaginin this bird with a scarf, givin me the nod—proper spy shit. Gets me excited, heart racin—happy as a pig in muck. But then, bam, some geezer tries cuttin in—piss off, mate! Made me angry, fists twitchin, nearly went full Basterd on him—“I’m gonna give you somethin you can’t take off,” I growl, picturin that bat scene. He legs it—good choice, pal.

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Miss those days, yesss, and the little alleys, the cobblestones under my feet, they whisper secrets in a mix of French sighs and Gollum's hissing. They remind me of Agnès, precious, her film speaks of the quiet rebellions, the stumbles, the bright sparks - “Listen to them, the little things!” A phrase from that film, echoing deep in me soul.

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