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About Old Harbour

So I’m scopin’ the scene, yeah? Them prossies back in the day, they had style—miniskirts tighter than a villain’s grip, lips redder than a double-decker bus. Little known fact, dig this: in ‘67, Soho was crawlin’ with these birds—cops called ‘em “night butterflies,” how fab is that? I’m vibin’, thinkin’ “Oh, behave!” when this one chick—let’s call her Babs—sways over, all sultry like. She’s got that look, ya know, “The children are watching,” like in the movie, but flipped—*she’s* watchin’ me, sizin’ me up. Got me all hot under the collar, baby!

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When I finally got in, I was pumped. I mean, who wouldn’t be? The colors, the weird shapes, the fishy smells—heaven! But then, I saw it. The clownfish exhibit. And guess what? It was closed! I was ready to throw a tantrum like a toddler. “Nooooo! Not the clowns!”

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