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About Old Harbour

So, last week, I’m prowlin’—growling, “You merely adopted the dark.”—and I spot this bird, all fishnets and attitude. Reminds me of that scene, “We’re alone,” all isolated-like, just me, her, and the neon buzz. I’m thinkin’, “Mate, she’s either a jackpot or a fuckin’ setup.” Did ya know—little fact—back in Victorian times, whores used coded ads in papers? “French lessons,” my arse—sneaky bastards. Anyway, I’m chattin’ her up, heart poundin’—fuckin’ thrilled, yeah? But then—bam—some geezer rolls up, all aggro, demandin’ cash. Pissed me right off! I’m like, “Oi, cunt, I ain’t your ATM!”

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Then, I decided to take a stroll down Constant Spring Rd. The traffic was insane! Like, why is it always like this? I swear, I could’ve walked to Kingston and back faster. And don’t get me started on the taxi drivers. They’re like, “I’m just gonna cut you off, no biggie.” I’m there dodging cars like I’m in some video game.

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