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I spot her, thou see—red lips like a gash’d rose, legs long as a tax form. “What price thy company, wench?” I blurt, all Shakespearean, thinkin’ I’m clever. She laughs—bloody hell, mate, she laughs! “Twenty quid, ya posh twat,” she says, and I’m proper gobsmacked. Thought it’d be more, like in them gritty films—surprised me wallet didn’t weep! “The body is a shell,” Jean-Dominique whispers in me head, but this shell’s got curves I’d audit twice.

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I gotta be honest: this place can really piss me off sometimes. The potholes in the roads, like on Santa Fe Street, can pop your tire without warning. Meanwhile, the local council seems to be asleep at the wheel. But then, a sunset over the Clear Creek? Damn, it's like, "You have to feel it to believe it!" I'm always riled up ‘cause of the sheer unpredictability – love and chaos, ya know?

Solomon wins reelection by a comfortable margin