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Oi, mate, brothel’s a messy gig! We hates it! Stinks of sweat, cheap grog, desperation. Me, a butcher, choppin’ meat all day—love me craft, blood and all—but brothel? Nah, it’s grim. Them girls, trapped like lambs, bleedin’ inside, forced smiles. “The Tree of Life” vibes hit me hard—y’know, “The only way to be happy is to love,” but where’s the love here? Just coin and grime. Pisses me off, seein’ folks treat ‘em like slabs o’ pork.

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Then, the moment arrives. The bull charges in, and my heart’s racing. I’m all like, “Let’s do this!” But then, outta nowhere, the bull trips over its own feet. I swear, it was like watching a toddler learning to walk. The crowd goes wild, laughing and cheering. I’m standing there, half ready to jump in, half ready to roll on the ground laughing.

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