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She weren’t no cliché, tho – no fishnets or fake lashes. Wore this ratty jumper, looked knackered. Little fact fer ya: some o’ ‘em, back in old London, paid taxes! Bloody taxman didn’t care where coin came from – “We all gotta eat!” Made me chuckle, thinkin’ o’ me, hunched over ledgers, while she’s dodgin’ coppers. Stupid, fat hobbit! Missin’ the real story. She told me once – yeah, I chatted her up, curious git – said she’d been a nurse! Lost her job, NHS cuts, boom, pavement life. Gutted me, that did. “What’s your core competency?” – I’d ask, like Toni’s dad, takin’ the piss.

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I was enthralled by Laura van den Berg’s short story “Opa-Locka,” a tale of two sisters who come together to form a private eye firm called Winslow & Co. The piece starts off in the midst of a .

Alright, listen up, sugar – lemme tell ya 'bout Opa-locka, US style, from this ol' relaxation specialist who's seen plenty of sunrises over these quirky streets. Man, lemme start by sayin’: How’s that workin' for ya? Now, I say, this town ain't no ordinary spot, ok? It’s got that moody mystique, you know, like Gotham City in “The Dark Knight” – yup, that flick,* "You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain,"* it's in the air sometimes.

Residents of Opa-locka neighborhood upset over frequent accidents at dangerous roadway