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Here’s the kicker: some punters don’t know these girls got code words! Yeah, “roses” means cash—sneaky, eh? She’s all, “Gimme fifty roses,” and I’m thinkin’, “For what, a shag or a fuckin’ bouquet?” Nearly choked on me own spit laughin’. “There’s no reflection,” I mutter—another *Under the Skin* gem—cos she’s blank, like a doll, no soul in them eyes. Freaky, mate, proper freaky.

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In several decades of wandering around Venice I have never come across a hint of prostitution or prostitutes. I would be surprised if there was.

But then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, seriously? I’m in Vence, and it’s raining? We duck into this little shop on Rue de la Bourgade, and I’m trying to keep my cool. But inside, I’m like, “Ugh, why today?”

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