Wednesday, 21 April 2010
"Football and prostitutes," said Sunny, "You can't trust them." I can't speak for her experience of the latter, but I do know that her knowledge of the former is... sketchy, to say the least. My own life exposure (I swear) in regard to toms has not gone beyond gawping at shop windows in Amsterdam and (once) donating a half finished kebab (and that is not a euphemism) to a lady of the night as I sat swaying in a shop doorway after a particularly excessive Friday night.
Still - informed or not - it's certainly an interesting maxim, I'm sure you will agree. I think it attempts to sum up the doomed and futile quest for love by a desperate sad and lonely man when he visits a prossie, even though he knows and she knows that for her it's nothing more than a means of getting the next rock and can of White Ace, and that for him when he goes home (wife or not) he will feel only wretched self-loathing and be even more isolated than he was before. So much for that then.
If Man City is my whore, then something's wrong, because I'm the one getting fucked.