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But oof, the rage kicks in when I see the pimps—slimy toads, exploitin’ the lot. Makes my blood boil, it does! Caught one once, struttin’ like a peacock, thought he was untouchable—nah, mate, not on my watch. Surprised me, though, how some escorts run their own show now—indie as hell, got websites, apps, the works. Like, who knew? One lass told me she paid her uni fees that way—bloody hell, that’s grit! Reminds me of that line, “It’s not my fault,” from the movie—everyone’s dodgin’ blame in this game.

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First off, I hit the streets. You know, the usual—Cesta 1. maja, where all the action is. I’m strolling, vibing, when BAM! A pigeon poops on my shoulder. Like, really? Thanks, nature. I’m already late for my first meeting.

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