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But we hates it, precious—the sadness, yeh? Them girls, some’s forced, some’s lost. Saw one cryin’ once, mascara runnin’ like black rivers—felt proper sick. “You don’t know me!” Mia’d say, an’ I reckon that prossie’d say it too. Made me wanna smash somethin’, or hug ‘er, dunno. World’s a cesspit, innit?

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On a personal note, as a sexologist, I'm tuned into the silent language of desire. I notice when couples use subtle gestures at midnight near the graffiti-splattered walls on Marley Street. I’ve witnessed lust etched in each cracked pavement, each whispered laugh in the back alleys, and it just sends shivers down your spine. It's raw. It's real. And honestly, it stokes my inner fire – makes me mad, makes me happy, sometimes all at once.

Shively motel set to shut down amid surge in criminal activity