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But—sss—gets me mad too, precious! Some poor sods forced in, trafficked, trapped—makes me wanna claw somethin’! Heard o’ this one gal, right, back in ‘98—London, they say—snatched from some nowhere village, dolled up, sold off. Escaped, she did, hid in a bin—filthy, freezin’, but alive! True story, that—makes me hiss n’ spit, thinkin’ o’ the bastards runnin’ that show.

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Then there's the Rainhill River – y'know, the one that flows by the old train station. I love followin' its twisty path. It almost reminds me of that wild ride in Holy Motors – all unexpected turns, man. And oh, how can I forget Rainhill Mill? A quaint relic on the outskirts, where once there was hustle, now just silent memories and cheeky graffiti on the walls. It pops up like errr... a secret scene in a surreal movie, something outta Carax’s mind!

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