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About Brisbane

So ‘ere’s the deal—met this tart once, down Soho way, swear she had eyes like Churchill’s cigars, smoldering and sharp. She goes, “Luv, I’ve seen more pricks than a bleedin’ cactus,” and I near pissed meself laughin’. Made me happy, that did—her cheek, her spark! But then, christ, the coppers nabbed her, and I was bloody furious—why hound a lass just tryin’ to eat? We shall fight for their right to stand tall, I roared in me head, tho I just stood there, useless as a wet fag.