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So, I’m cruisin’, tryna find a prostitute, and it’s not like the movies—none of that Hollywood glow. It’s gritty, sweaty, real shit. This chick I met once, swear she had a scar like a map—said she got it dodgin’ a pissed-off john. Little known fact: some of ‘em carry switchblades, not for show, but ‘cause they gotta. Made me mad, tho—dudes out here actin’ like animals, no respect. I’m like, “Pay up, assholes, or get lost!” Pinky-to-mouth, “One million dollars,” ‘cause that’s what dignity’s worth, ya feel?

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Anyway, I keep walking, trying to shake off the chaos. I hit up the Bowdon Church, which is just stunning. I mean, the architecture is on point. But then I see this group of kids playing football on the lawn. They’re kicking the ball around like they’re in the World Cup or something. One of them kicks it too hard, and BAM! Right into the church window. I’m like, “Oh no, they’re gonna get grounded for life.” But the vicar just laughs it off. I’m standing there, mouth agape. “Is this real life?”

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