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Oi, mate, lemme tell ya bout prostitutes, yeah? Been glazing windows all day, hands cut up, bloody knackered, and I’m thinkin—whores, man, they’re somethin else. Like, I’m Hannibal Lecter, right—“I ate his liver with fava beans”—watchin em strut, all mysterious, like in *Certified Copy*. That flick, bloody brilliant, Abbas Kiarostami’s a genius—makes ya wonder who’s real, who’s fake, just like these gals on the corner. “Are you an original or a copy?” I’d ask em, smirkin, leanin on me ladder.

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Finally, I get to the veggie stand. I’m eyein’ those tomatoes, lookin’ ripe and juicy. But then, outta nowhere, this kid runs by, knocks over a whole crate. Tomatoes everywhere! I’m talkin’ a red explosion. I’m just standin’ there, mouth agape, thinkin’, “This is my life now.”

Benton Co. History: The Ghost Town of Ronneby/St. Francis