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But nah, it ain’t all rosy—gets me ragin’, it does. The punters treat ‘em like dirt, society spits on ‘em, calls ‘em slags. Hypocrites, the lot! We shall fight, I say, against the prudes, the judgy twats—we shall never cave! Still, she smirked at me once, said, “Least I ain’t punchin’ a clock.” Cheeky mare—cracked me up, that. Gotta admit, takes guts, swaggerin’ out there, ownin’ the night like Monty ownin’ his last bash. “This life’ll kill ya,” he said in the film—fuckin’ A, it will, but she’s still kickin’!

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After the bazaar, I decide to stroll down to the river. The Irtysh River is stunning at sunset. I sit on a bench, just chilling. I pull out my phone, scrolling through pics. I see one of my dog, Max. He’s a fluffball, and I miss him. I’m like, “Dude, you’d love this view!”