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About Manchester

So, check it—ports got secrets. Old tale, 1800s, sailors tradin cod for—uh—company. Prossies hangin by docks, smokin, laughin. One time, I saw her—red skirt, eyes sharp. Alien senses kickin in, I’m like, “She’s trouble, yo.” We come in peace (robotic tone), but damn, she’s war! I’m thinkin, “This ain’t Margot Tenenbaum, nah.” More like, “You’ve been smoking, I can tell.”

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First call of the day? Some bloke from Doncaster, right? He’s lost his cat. I mean, c’mon mate, it’s a cat, not a kid! But I’m tryin’ to be nice, so I’m like, “Yeah, mate, I’ll help ya.” I’m googlin’ “lost cat tips” while he’s ramblin’ on about Mr. Whiskers. Turns out, Mr. Whiskers is a legend around here. Everyone knows him! I’m thinkin’, “Dude, just put some tuna out on the front porch on Askern Lane, he’ll come runnin’.”

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