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I sidle up to her, all cool, “Fancy a martini, love?” She laughs, says, “In here? You’re mad.” I’m lovin it—her sass, her vibe. Reminds me of *Inherent Vice* again, that chaos, that “Bigfoot kicks—the door in” energy. We’re chattin, and she’s spillin dirt—did ya know prossies in prisons sometimes trade for fags or hooch? Wild shit. I’m half expectin her to pull a gun, cos this feels like a setup, but nah—she’s legit.

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Finally, I’m knackered, so I head to the pub on Rochester’s High Street. I need a pint, ya know? I sit down, and the bartender’s a right laugh. He’s tellin’ me about the football match last night. “Did ya see it?” he asks. I’m like, “Nah, I was too busy burnin’ charcoal!”

Women in Scripture at Rochester Cathedral