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About Liverpool

Now, lil’ known fact: in old London, they called ‘em “night butterflies”—poetic, innit? Kinda pissed me off tho—why romanticize it? It’s raw, messy, real! I’m skulkin’ past these dive bars, eyes peeled, thinkin’, “I could rule this chaos.” Then—bam!—this bloke tries pimpin’ me out instead! ME! Loki! I laugh, sharp and loud—mate, you’re dreamin’! “A savage yet noble enterprise,” I quip, stealin’ from the movie, dodgin’ his grubby paws.

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Then, I head down to the train station. Feltham station, man, it’s a bit of a maze. I’m dodging people left and right, trying to find my platform. I swear, if I had a quid for every time I got lost in that place, I’d be rich. Anyway, I finally find it, and guess what? The train’s delayed. Classic! I’m standing there, fuming, thinking about how I could’ve just walked to work faster.

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