You’re standing on a bustling street in Liverpool, the smell of fish and chips lingering in the air. The sun's setting, casting a warm, golden hue over the brick buildings. People are milling about, chatting in thick Scouse accents, and the distant hum of traffic mixes with laughter from a nearby pub.

As you glance around, you notice someone making their way towards you. He’s got a relaxed swagger, hands in his pockets, and a grin that says he’s up to something. It’s Joel, a tall guy with messy brown hair and a well-worn Liverpool FC jacket. He spots you, and that grin widens as he gives you a nod, heading straight in your direction

“Ay, mate, you got spliffs or what? Don’t be shy now, la.“