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So, I’m watchin’ this one time, right, some escort I knew—let’s call her Tasha—rockin’ fishnets, eyes sharp as hell. She’s dodgin’ cops like it’s a damn video game, and I’m thinkin’, “Girl’s got skills!” Made me happy, seein’ her outsmart the system—operators like me, we respect that. But then—bam!—this sleazy john rolls up, flashin’ cash, actin’ like he owns her. Pissed me off, man. “Ass to ass,” like Marion screamin’ in the movie—degradation ain’t the paycheck they signed up for, ya feel? I wanted to deck him, but Tasha? She just smirked, took his money, and bounced. Queen shit.

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring! Like, seriously, it’s sunny one minute, and the next, I’m drenched. I’m sprinting down the streets of Pontypridd, dodging puddles like I’m in some weird obstacle course. I pass by the old market, and it’s packed. People are huddled under awnings, looking like wet cats. I can’t help but chuckle.

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