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About Mons

Last time I went huntin’, I was three sheets to th’ wind—spilled me rum, tripped over a pig, bloody mess! Made me mad as a shark with no teeth—hate wastin’ good drink! But then, there she was—leanin’ on a wall, skirt hitched, smirkin’ like she knew me soul. “What’s yer price, darlin’?” I slurs, an’ she laughs, “More’n yer ship, pirate!” Cheeky wench! Reminds me o’ that diner scene—calm ‘fore the storm, then bam, chaos! ‘Cept here, chaos is her winkin’ an’ me fumblin’ coins.

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I tell ya, Old Market District be a mad mix of buzzing stalls, where you can cop street food that slaps – proper bangin’ grub, ya know? And don’t even get me started on Little Sipple – dem funky bars and clubs where I once met a gal with mad humour; I was like, “Is it ’cos I is black?” – proper laugh riot though, mate!

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