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About Sheffield

So I’m strollin’ downtown, all grimy, smellin’ like a damn campfire. Lookin’ for a girl who don’t care bout that. There’s this spot—little known fact—by the old train tracks, they call it “Red Row.” Been around since the 1800s, whores used to bang railroad guys there. History’s wild, right? Makes me smirk, thinkin’ bout it. “Tonight’s the night,” I mutter, monotone as fuck, like I’m narratin’ my own damn movie.

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After that disaster, I decide to stroll down to the High Street. It’s buzzing with people. I’m dodging folks left and right, trying not to look like a lost tourist. I pass by this shop called “Kempston Kicks.” They sell trainers, and I’m like, “Man, I could use a new pair.” But then I remember my budget. Ugh, being an actuary means I gotta be responsible.

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