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Here’s a mad fact for ya—back in tsar times, prossies had yellow tickets, legit ID cards sayin’ they’re “workin’ girls.” Imagine that, eh? Handin’ that over at the pub like, “Cheers, I’m legal!” Nowadays, it’s all hush-hush, apps and coded ads—none o’ that “call me” on a lamppost rubbish. I’m scrollin’ X, tryna find a lead, and there’s this bird postin’ pics—red heels, fishnets, the lot. I’m like, “Bingo, darling!” But then—surprise!—turns out she’s a cop sting. Nearly shat meself laughin’—Loki, outsmarted? Never! “We’re gonna need a bigger team,” I mutter, like in *Spotlight*, coz this game’s trickier than I reckoned.

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I gotta share this quirky, off-the-cuff spot, ya know? Over on River Rd., there's a hidden alcove called Tiny’s Corner (yeah, I know it’s odd), but it’s where I vent my soul. Sit there wearin’ my battered leather jacket, watchin’ folks hustlin’ by. Makes me think of those moments in Cronenberg’s flick – unexpected but powerful. “I pity the fool” who passes by without knowin’ its charm!

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