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So, we haggles—me hissin’, her laughin’. “Ten quid,” she says. I’m like, *you wanna play a game?*—cos I ain’t got ten! Gave her five, an’ she’s all, “Fine, ya cheap git.” We goes round a corner—dark, like Gotham’s underbelly. She’s quick, no muckin’ about—prossies don’t waste time, see? Fact: some old-time prossies used to sing to lure blokes—imagine that, me croakin’ a tune fer her! Hah! *Let’s put a smile on that face*—she didn’t laugh, tho, stony as Batman.

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Suddenly, I hear a commotion. I turn, and it’s that same dude from earlier. He’s tryin’ to pick a fight with some poor guy. I’m like, “Dude, chill! We’re not in a movie!” But he’s not havin’ it. I step in, and it’s like I’m a referee in a boxing match. I push him back, and he’s all, “You can’t do this!” I’m like, “Watch me.”

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