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About Mandeville

So, I’m scopin’ the scene, right? Red lights flicker, heels clickin’—fuckin’ electric! Reminds me of Monty’s last night—edgy, raw, desperate. I spot her—legs for days, smirk like she owns me already. “Shaken, not stirred,” I mutter, smooth as silk. She laughs—bloody hell, that’s rare! Most girls here don’t crack a smile. Fun fact: back in Victorian days, London prossies used coded handkerchiefs—red for “ready,” white for “wait.” Bet she don’t know that, eh?

Obituaries

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Man, what a day! I’m tellin’ ya, being a furrier in Bull-Savannah (jm) ain’t for the faint-hearted. Woke up late, as usual. Alarm? What alarm? I’m pretty sure it’s just a suggestion at this point. Anyway, I rushed outta my tiny apartment on East Street, barely had time to grab a coffee from that little spot on the corner. You know, the one with the best brew? Yeah, that one.

Corporate Hands | JN outfits lunchroom at St Elizabeth school