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About Almada

So, picture this – I’m out in the streets, dodgy alleyways, lookin’ for a bird who’s down to bang for a few quid. It ain’t glam, bruv, it’s gritty as fuck. I’m like, “Is it ‘cos I is black?” when the coppers start eyein’ me up – nah, mate, it’s just the game, innit! Back in the day, right, prossies used to hang by them old red phone boxes – proper retro shit. Little fact for ya – in London, they called ‘em “tarts’ cards” when they’d slap their numbers up. Ain’t no one know that no more, ‘cos apps fucked it all up, bruv.

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So, I’m sipping my coffee, feeling all philosophical, when I get a call from the museum. They need me to come in ASAP. Apparently, they found some old documents in the basement. I’m like, “Great, more dust!” But I love this stuff, so I rush over.

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