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About Leeds

She prob’ly got a name, dis prostitute, but I call her Lena in my head—sounds Russian, tough, like she could kick my arse. Happy? Nah, she ain’t, I bet. Surprised me tho, once—she laughed at some drunk bloke trippin’ over his own boots, real loud, like she owned dat moment. “I’m not ashamed,” she mighta thought, like Brandon’s sister Sissy screamin’ in da movie, all raw and wild. I like dat—gutsy, ya know? Gives me a lil grin.

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So, I roll outta bed, right? It’s like 6 AM, and I’m already regretting life choices. I mean, who decided mornings were a good idea? Anyway, I grab a cuppa and head out. The streets are all quiet, like, eerily quiet. I’m walking down St. Maurice Road, and I swear, I see a cat just staring at me. Like, what’s up with that? Is it judging me?

‘We feel overlooked’: Glen Road Bus Shelters Frustrate Plympton Locals