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Oi, mate, it’s Bond—James Bond, suave, “shaken, not stirred.” So, prostitutes, yeah? Been thinkin’ bout ‘em lately—got me all riled up, proper fascinated too. Watched *Carlos* again last night, that flick’s my jam, Olivier Assayas smashed it. “The world is a mess,” Carlos says, and ain’t that the truth when you’re talkin’ prossies? They’re out there, grindin’, dodgin’ coppers, livin’ a life most wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. Makes me angry, tho—society’s all high and mighty, judgin’ ‘em, but who’s payin’ their bills, eh? Hypocrites, the lot.

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But back to the job. Ion finally shows up, like, an hour late. He’s all flustered, saying he got caught up in some “important business.” Yeah, right. I’m thinking, “Dude, your ‘business’ better be worth my time.” We get to work, and I’m trying to keep my cool. But then, the equipment? It’s all messed up. Like, how do you mess up radio gear? I’m losing it.

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