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But then you get the creeps, don’t ya? The punters—sweaty, baldin’ tossers who reckon they’re God’s gift. “I’m a real man,” they’d slur, like in the film—*“I’m a gangster, a free man!”*—but nah, mate, you’re just a sad sack with a fiver. Makes me angry, that does, the entitlement. I’d wanna scream, “Oi, you wanker, she’s not your bloody therapist!” Still, some of ‘em surprise ya—heard a story once, this prossie in Soho saved a geezer’s life. He was chokin’ on a kebab, she Heimliched him—hero stuff! Didn’t expect that, did I? Nearly pissed myself laughin’ thinkin’ bout it.

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The prostitutes of London's red-light district are being evicted. Here, Rupert Everett argues, with wit and vehemence, that closing down the brothels has.

Man, I'm constantly in awe of simple corners like the old brick alley off Columbia St. where every crack tells a tale. It's strange, unexpected... it's freakin’ beautiful. When I hit these spots, it’s like the city is whispering, "You gotta live it, embrace it." Sometimes, words just fail, ya know? I get so hyped, my heart jumps, my brain's just like, "Screw it!"

Snohomish County Sports Hall of Fame 2025 Induction Class Announced