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Alright, so here’s the deal—findin’ a prostitute, man, it’s wild out there! I’m sittin’ here, pinky-to-mouth, Dr. Evil style, “One million dollars,” thinkin’ how it’s like a damn mission. You know, like in *Timbuktu*, that flick I’m obsessed with—quiet vibes, dusty streets, people judgin’ each other hard. Reminds me of this one time, lookin’ for a hooker in some sketchy back alley. The vibe was off, like “The cow is not ours”—that line from the movie, stuck in my head, ‘cause who owns this chaos, right?

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I get my sarnie, and it’s glorious. I’m munching away, feeling like a king, when I hear this commotion down by the train station. Turns out, some bloke’s lost his dog. I mean, come on, mate! How do you lose a dog in Rugeley? It’s not that big! So, I join the search party. We’re calling out “Rover!” like it’s some kind of doggy version of hide and seek.

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