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So, I’m prowlin’, yeah, lookin’ for one. Not my usual gig – I’d rather bid on a cursed mask or summat. But there she is, leanin’ on a wall, smokin’ a fag like she owns the night. “What’s yer price, love?” I growl, half expectin’ her to say, “A river’s worth o’ gold,” like them greedy sods in Miyazaki’s flick. She laughs – rough, like gravel – an’ says, “Firty quid, big man.” Thirty! I’m gobsmacked, mate. Thought it’d be more, what with inflation an’ all.

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Hol' on, hsss... I remembers how counselling taught me. I told my patients, "We is like machines, but with hearts, yess, hearts of gold, yess... Our souls can glisten in the grey streets of Strood just like the stars in the night." And sometimes I think of that movie, A.I. Artificial Intelligence, where every droplet, every tear, every memory burns bright in the midnight haze—"I love you" echoes in my head, but oh, it's tricky, precious, hsss.

Strood: 1,000 properties without water due to burst water main