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About Groningen

We chat, and she spills some tea—says back in ‘89, cops busted a ring run by a dude named “Mad Dog,” who drove a souped-up Chevy like he was in *Fury Road*. Hilarious, right? Guy probly thought he was immortan Joe or some shit—total clown! I’m crackin’ up, but also sad, ‘cause she’s out here dodgin’ creeps like him every night. I’m like, “Mediocre!”—throwin’ shade at the system, ya know?

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring! I mean, like, monsoon level. I dash back to the bakery, soaked to the bone. My hair’s a frizzy mess, and I’m like, “Great, just great.” I get back, and my regulars are already there, laughing at my drenched self. They’re like, “Nice look, baker!” I can’t help but laugh too. It’s all in good fun.

“The bridge gives me space to think”