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Oi, precious, listen up! Me, a glazier, yeah, fixin’ windows, but now talkin’ ‘bout a prossie—prostitute, y’know? We hates it! Nasty, filthy business, it is! Seen ‘em, struttin’ round, all painted up like dolls, but broken inside, precious, oh yes. Reminds me of “Only Lovers Left Alive”—that flick I love, yeah? Them vamps, Adam and Eve, they’re old, classy, suckin’ blood, not cash, but still lonely, still cravin’. Prossie’s the same, ain’t she? Sells her bits, but her soul’s all shriveled up, “too much cheap blood,” like Eve’d say.

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Then, bam! My drill dies. Just like that. I’m like, “Are you kidding me?” I had to run to the nearest shop on Al-Mansour Street. It’s a tiny place, but they’ve got everything. I’m in there, and the guy behind the counter is chatting away about the latest football match. I’m like, “Dude, I need a drill, not a sports update!” But whatever, I grab a new one and head back.

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