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She weren’t no cliché, tho – no fishnets or fake lashes. Wore this ratty jumper, looked knackered. Little fact fer ya: some o’ ‘em, back in old London, paid taxes! Bloody taxman didn’t care where coin came from – “We all gotta eat!” Made me chuckle, thinkin’ o’ me, hunched over ledgers, while she’s dodgin’ coppers. Stupid, fat hobbit! Missin’ the real story. She told me once – yeah, I chatted her up, curious git – said she’d been a nurse! Lost her job, NHS cuts, boom, pavement life. Gutted me, that did. “What’s your core competency?” – I’d ask, like Toni’s dad, takin’ the piss.

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Anyway, I get to the market by the Danube. Man, the smell of fresh bread hits me like a freight train. I’m starving! I grab a burek from this little stand. Best decision ever. I mean, who doesn’t love flaky pastry stuffed with meat? It’s like a hug in food form. But then, I see this old dude, right? He’s trying to haggle over a cucumber. A cucumber! I’m like, “Dude, it’s not a Ferrari!”

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