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Hello, I'm

back to another brand new episode of the casual criminalist. As always, hello there, I'm your host, Simon, what happens here? This is a show where I read something that I've never read before.

George has put me together a script, which I don't have the title of because apparently I didn't print it.

I don't even know what this is about. You probably know all the title is because you clicked on this video or this podcast and you saw it. I don't.

I'm going to read this and then Jen, I want to call editor, is going to add some images and some music and stuff like that afterwards. Welcome to the show. Please leave a review if you're listening as a podcast. Consider clicking like you don't have to yet, obviously, especially if you're new here and you've never listened to the show before. In which case you might wondering what's going on.

It's a true crime show. So, it's all off, isn't it? Let's go. This is big. Look at this, why is it going on?

For everyone listening, I just lifted up the script and it's substantial.

It's the 9th of June, 1991 on Muttwastreet.

Moo, woot. Oh my god, really? That's how you pronounce it. George provides me these pronunciation guidelines and what looks like Muttwastreet looks to be Wu-Hwa-Street.

How is that MW? Wu-Hwa-Hwa-Hwa-Hwa? This is crazy. Chinese language, what's up?

Okay, look, they're on this street. Anyway, it's in Hong Kong with like six words in. Come on, whistle boy, get it together.

The relentless and merciless summer heat is beating down on the endless wave of human traffic that fills the pavements.

People applaud slowly through the streets, jam, shoulders a shoulder, finding themselves unable to rapidly advance through the oddly tightly packed streets.

streets, even without the horrendous humidity that adds laborious effort and discomfort

to every step taken and every breath drawn.

The only thing that shines brighter than the sun on this hot day is the glistening gold

...