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Anyways, I’m cruisin—dark corners, neon buzzin, stinks like piss n’ regret. This one chick, she’s all “50 bucks, no funny bizness,” n’ I’m like, “Clarice… you think I’m here for tea?” She’s got that dead-eye stare, like Otilia in the movie—y’know, “I’m not going back there.” Fuckin chills me, but I’m hooked. Somethin bout that edge, that danger, gets the blood pumpin.

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This Saturday sees the Firpress Printers Cumberland cup final take place As this final and the grand final will take place between Maryport and Wath Brow they.

So, I finally set up shop near the old railway station. It’s a bit quiet, but I’m ready to work. I start sharpening this old knife for a bloke named Dave. He’s a fisherman, and he’s got stories for days. He’s tellin’ me about the time he caught a massive cod off the coast of Maryport. I’m like, “No way, mate! You sure it wasn’t just a boot?” We both laugh, and it’s good vibes.

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