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Little-known fact? Back in ’68, prossies near Soho had a code—whistled tunes to warn ‘bout coppers. Rita knew it, whistled me “Swingin’ London”—blew my mind! I’m like, “You’re a time capsule, luv!” She smirks, “The past ain’t dead, sweetie.” Deep, man, deep! Felt like I’m in Lynch’s head, all “Who am I?” trippy vibes.

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Then, the door swings open, and in walks this old lady. She’s got this fierce look, like she’s seen it all. She orders a glass of red wine, and I’m thinking, “Okay, she’s classy.” But then she starts telling me about her cat, Mici, and how he’s the king of the house. I’m like, “Lady, I’m all for cat royalty, but I gotta serve drinks here!”

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