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Now, *Moulin Rouge!*—oh, it gets me goin’! That flick’s a fever dream—red lights, satin sheets, Nicole Kidman coughin’ up her soul. “Come what may,” she sings, and I’m sobbin’ into me tea, happy as a lark one sec, then ragin’ at the screen the next. Why? Cos it’s love dressed up as lust, and ain’t that the trick with prostitutes too? You’re payin’ for a dance, a whisper, a “my heart is—oops, time’s up, mate.” Surprised me first time I clocked it—how it’s all theatre, really.

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But then, outta nowhere, the power goes out. Like, seriously? I’m standing there, tools in hand, and the whole place goes dark. I’m thinking, “This is a joke, right?” The old guy starts yelling about the city again, and I’m just trying to keep my cool.

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