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About Bayamon

Then she says, “50 quid, upfront.” I’m gutted—50?! In ’72, you’d get a shag for a tenner! I’m hagglin, cos Bond don’t overpay, and she’s smirkin like I’m some punter. “Shaken, not stirred, darling,” I say, and she rolls her eyes. We seal the deal, and mate, it’s worth it—better than a Pussy Galore fantasy. “What’s the—worst that can happen?” Doc’d say, and I’m thinkin, gettin caught? Worth the risk.

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But then, outta nowhere, this kid runs into me. I drop my bread! I’m like, “Nooooo!” It’s like slow motion. I’m ready to cry. But the kid’s all, “Sorry, mister!” and runs off. I’m standing there, bread on the ground, and I’m like, “Great, just great.”

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