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About Leeds

Walk slow, talk soft. That’s my trick. They smell fear. Like dogs. Or desperation. I’m sittin’ there, thinkin’. *Why’m I even here?* Then I spot her. Leanin’ on a lamppost. Skirt’s too short. Eyes like Therese’s—searchin’. “You don’t know me,” she’d say. Like in the movie. But I see her. I always do.

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Next, I hit up the park on East Finchley. It’s a lovely spot, but today? It’s packed! Families everywhere, kids screaming, dogs barking. I’m just trying to find a quiet bench, but no luck. I finally plop down next to this old bloke who’s feeding the pigeons. He starts chatting me up about the “good old days.” I’m like, “Mate, I’m just trying to chill!” But he’s relentless.

Finchley: Way London bus driven probed by Met after pensioner dies