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About London

I like the ones who own it, tho. Badasses who don’t take no shit. Reminds me of Viggo snappin, “No more!”—that’s the vibe. But half the time, I’m just paranoid, thinkin, “Is this a sting? Am I fucked?” Heart racin, palms sweaty—shit’s intense! Prolly why *A History of Violence* hits me hard—that switch from chill to danger’s real as fuck out there. So yeah, findin a prostitute? It’s a trip, man—dangerous, funny, fucked up, all at once. You try it, don’t say I didn’t warn ya, motherfucker!

A SUSPECTED brothel was raided by police in a flat above a derelict Bootle pub.

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So, I sit down with my food, and I’m munchin’ away. The seagulls are eyein’ me like I’m their next meal. I swear, they’re like little flying thieves. One swoops down, and I’m like, “Oi! Get away, ya little bandit!” I’m flappin’ my arms like a madman. People are lookin’ at me like I’m the crazy one. But hey, I’m just protectin’ my dinner!

Industrial accident in Bootle