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...

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

The Boy's First Experience

"I think I saw a punter today!" cried The Boy when I got home from work the other day. He seemed quite surprised by this.

Actually, people are often surprised by the fact that I often come across punters during my comings and goings from the flat. There's a brothel down there. Men come to the brothel to have sex with women for money. To do this, they have to enter the building. To enter the building, they have to ring the buzzer and wait. They have no powerful ability to turn themselves invisible or turn themselves into a mist so they can enter through the letterbox.

Unless X-Men are so shunned by society that they find themselves coming to the Grey Toon for a bit of company. I don't know.

Anyway. The Boy left the flat and found an old man standing there. The old man asked him if this was "Address Of The Hoors, The Grey Toon" and The Boy replied that yes indeed, it was. Then the old man kind of shuffled around in an embarrassed manner.

Poor guy. I do hope he didn't think The Boy was a Rent Boy and that he'd come to the wrong kind of establishment...

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