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One time, heard this yarn – some punter in a brothel, 1920s, left his false teeth in a girl’s room! Fuckin ell, imagine the panic, “I see you, bastard!” – he’s stumblin round, gummi’ his words, hah! Little shit like that, keeps it real. Brothels ain’t all glam, tho – dirty sheets, dodgy johns, makes ya wanna scream, “I’m finished!” But then, there’s this vibe, this raw energy, like oil gushin in that movie. Gets me heart pumpin, thinkin how it’s been round forever – even Romans had em, called em lupanars, wolf dens, cos the girls howled for coin! Wild, innit?

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Sweet heck, not far is Locust Ln. – a quirky street where art spills out from every cranny. Walls bursting with rebellious graff, shouting rebel slogans, loud as, "What a day!" That street gives power to the oppressed, just like our fight - I mean, "Billionaires should not exist!" I get so fired up there.

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