Hoors? Yeah... Hoors. Prostitutes, Tarts, Hookers, Ladies of Negotiable Affection, call them what you will. For 8 years or so I lived in granite tenement. My Neighbours Were Hoors. Sadly for us all (!?) the brothel was closed down and I moved out of the area. I never did get around to writing about the court case though...

Sunday, October 31, 2004

I Can Still See You!

So much for me saying nothing ever happened round here any more. I knew that would be tempting fate.

So I am skipping merrily down the stairs on saturday morning and pause on the landing to browse the big piles of mail for people who don't live here any more... (more on that later)

And I hear the Hoors' buzzer go.

And into the building comes this young lad. He spies me. He pulls his tshirt over his face and stands there until I have passed him.

You know how when you're playing peek-a-boo with young kids and they think that if they hide themselves in their jumper and they can't see you then thus they have magically dissapeared? It seems that this young punter (and he was undoubtedly a punter) was SO young that he still thought this is what happens.

Poor laddie.

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