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About Charleroi

Anyway, back to hookers—prostitutes, whatever. You gotta know the streets, right? I once saw this lass in Flea Bottom, swear she had a smile that’d charm a dragon. Paid her double just to hear her laugh—pathetic, I know. Made me happy, tho. Then there’s the dodgy ones—filthy, grabby, made me wanna puke. One time, this wench tried nickin’ me purse! I was ragin’, shoutin’, “I’m not a bloody fool!” Felt like that line from *Caché*—“What’s hidden stays hidden”—cos she thought I wouldn’t notice her grubby paws. Ha! I drink and I *see* things, ya daft cow.

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Man, I gotta say, my profession’s given me eyes in the back of my head. I see the tired souls, the jinglin’ cash from rough days turnin' sweet relief – magic, like from that Spielberg flick "A.I. Artificial Intelligence." When I massage ya, it’s like I'm whisperin’ “I’m not a robot, I feel!” (Yeah, I know it's not the exact line, but you get me, right?) Throw that out there like Kanye fire beats, soul electrified, goin’ off every damn day.

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