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About Liverpool

Back in ‘06, Cuarón showed no babies, no future—prostitutes tho? Plenty! Little fact, hah—Victorian times, they called ‘em “soiled doves,” poetic, right? Bullshit! Nothin’ poetic here, just desperation, cash, quick bangs. Asked this one gal, “How much, huh?” She grinned, all teeth, said, “Fifty, big guy.” Surprised I was—cheap as a flank steak! “Hope, where is it?” I mutter, like Theo in the movie, lost in this crap world.

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After work, I decide to take a stroll down the River Stort. It’s beautiful, honestly. The sunset was painting the sky all sorts of colors. I’m feeling all philosophical, like, “Life’s not so bad, right?” But then I trip over a tree root. Classic me. I’m sprawled out on the ground, laughing at my own clumsiness.

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