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But nah, it ain’t all laughs. Gets me ragin’ sometimes—folk sneerin’ down their noses, callin’ ‘em slags. Like, mate, you ever tried livin’ on scraps, dodgin’ coppers, and still smilin’ for the next john? Takes guts, that. Reminds me of *Pan’s Labyrinth*—“The world is a cruel place,” innit? They’re out there, survivin’, while we’re all faffing about, judgin’. Pisses me off—hypocrites everywhere, sippin’ tea, actin’ pure.

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Finally, I get moving. I’m heading towards the industrial area near the train station. You know, the one by the old flour mill? Yeah, that place. I’m supposed to pick up a shipment of, like, 500 boxes of who-knows-what. I get there, and guess what? The shipment’s late. Classic. I’m standing there, looking at my watch, and it’s like time’s mocking me.