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About Valmiera

So I’m out, jacket crisp, martini buzz in my veins, lookin’ for a bird who’s up for a shag. Not just any tart—gotta be sharp, gotta have that spark. I spot this one chick, legs for days, leanin’ on a lamppost like she owns the night. “Hey, darlin’,” I say, all smooth, “fancy a spin with 007?” She smirks—fuckin’ smirks!—and I’m like, “Shaken, not stirred, love.” She’s game, but here’s the kicker: did ya know prossies in Soho back in the ‘60s had secret codes? Little winks, scarf colors—shit like that to dodge the coppers. This bird probs knows that history, she’s got that sly glint.

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First off, I’m headin’ down Pils iela, just mindin’ my own business, when I spot this old lady. She’s tryin’ to cross the street, but she’s movin’ slower than molasses in winter. I’m like, “C’mon, lady, I got places to be!” But I help her out, ya know? Gotta be a good dude. She thanks me, but then she starts talkin’ about her cat. I’m like, “Cool, but I gotta go!”

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