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Aight, listen up, precious! We swears! Brothels, man, they’re wild, yeah? Like, got this vibe—dark, messy, real human stuff. Kinda like *Son of Saul*, y’know? “We must get out!”—that’s what I think, standin’ there, watchin’ folks stumble in. Place stinks of sweat, cheap perfume, desperation clingin’ like smoke. Gets me mad, seein’ how some strut in, all cocky, thinkin’ they own it. Pisses me off—arrogant pricks! But then, we swears, some girls there? Tough as nails, sharper than you’d guess. Little secret—back in old Vienna, brothels had *codes*, right? Whistles, knocks—sneaky signals for cops or jealous wives. Ain’t that nuts?

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Then, outta nowhere, it started rainin’. Like, heavy rain. I’m talkin’ about the kind that soaks you in seconds. I sprinted to the nearest shop on High Street. I ducked in, soaked but laughin’. The shopkeeper just shook his head, like, “You really thought you could escape it?” I was like, “Yeah, I’m a warrior, not a fish!”

Dr O’Rane Thomas brings laparoscopic colon surgery to May Pen