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About Leicester

So, lemme tell ya ‘bout this one time—Homer’s outta town, prob’ly eatin’ donuts somewhere dumb. I’m bored, right? Walkin’ down by the tracks—ooh, shady!—and I see this gal, all fishnets and lipstick, leanin’ on a lamppost like she owns it. I’m like, “Hmm… she’s workin’ it!” Reminds me of Varda’s gleaners, pickin’ through life’s leftovers. She catches me starin’—awkward!—and yells, “What’s your deal, lady?” I’m all flustered, mutterin’, “Just admirin’ your hustle, hon!”

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Next, I hit up the local market on Merrow’s Green. Fresh produce, flowers, the whole shebang. I’m browsing, and I spot this guy selling homemade jams. I’m a sucker for jam, so I’m like, “Gimme that strawberry goodness!” But then, he tells me it’s £5.50! For a jar! I was like, “Dude, is it made of gold?” I ended up just grabbing a peach instead.

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