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Favorite bit? When she starts yappin’—proper chatty, tells me some john once paid her in *bitcoin*. Bitcoin! I’m pissing myself laughin’, “What, no shiny caps?” *Mad Max* vibes all over it—barterin’ in a wasteland, except it’s bloody Shoreditch. Surprised me, that did—thought they’d all be miserable sods, but she’s got stories, mate. Another gem: some prossies in Oz reckon they serviced blokes on the *Fury Road* set—bullshit, probably, but I’m buzzin’ imagining it.

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So, I wake up, right? Sun’s shining, birds chirping, all that jazz. I’m like, “Sweet, today’s gonna be easy.” But then I step outside on St. Agnes Road, and boom! The smell of fried food hits me. I swear, the chipper on the corner was frying up something fierce. I could practically taste the vinegar from the fish and chips.

Death Notice of Gerard Cullen (Crumlin, Dublin)