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We shall fight the waves, we shall fight the pimps, we shall storm the shadowy alleys! I’m divin’ in, askin’ round – “Oi, where’s the fun at?” – and some geezer points me to a lass called Ruby. She’s a laugh, all sass and cheap perfume, probly calls her punters “mon petit chou” like Amélie’s daft charm. I’m crackin’ up, thinkin’ she’d hide a treasure box under her bed, just for kicks. Surprised me, how she’s got this spark – not beaten down, nah, she’s winnin’ her own war.

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I get irate sometimes – like when the city seems too squeaky clean, too controlled. I just wanna scream “Freedom!” like in that movie scene: “I will not be a victim!” Haha, it’s twisted, right? But it’s all about passion. In my work, I notice the hidden desires that pulse beneath these quiet streets. The spontaneity, the secret smiles on a park bench, the flirtatious glances across a dimly lit cafe on Walnut. Heh, I've seen it all.

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