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Raspy growl—met her once, cash upfront, no chit-chat. Smelled like cheap perfume, ciggies, and regret. “What’s your story, love?” I asks, all nosy. She laughs, harsh, “Ain’t no fairy tale, mate.” Made me mad, that—world chewin her up, spittin her out. Happy tho, she’s got sass, fight in her! Surprised me, yeh, tougher than me drumsticks. Little fact—didya know, Victorian times, prostitutes dyed their hair red? Stand out, they did—bloody clever, right?

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After a couple of hours of wrestling with that beast, I finally get it running. I’m feeling like a hero, ya know? But then, I step outside for a breather, and it starts pouring. I mean, come on! It’s like the sky’s crying for me. I’m soaked in seconds. I’m standing there, drenched, thinking, “This is my life now.”

Philip van der Wees appointed Professor of Allied Health Sciences