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I’m chuffed when it’s easy—spot a lass, quick chat, done. But the rip-offs? Bloody hell, makes me wanna bellow, “We shall fight ‘em on the beaches!” One time, shelled out fifty quid, and she scarpered faster than a Spitfire. Fumin’, I was—thought, “This is not a fuckin’ game!” like Leo screamin’ at his brokers. Still, there’s a thrill, yeah? The chase, the dodge—heart’s pumpin’, you’re alive! Ever tried it in the rain? Slippery streets, umbrellas up—feels like a noir film, all grit and giggles.

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So, I’m like, whatever, I’ll just hit up the bakery on Calle 65 Infantería. I get there, and it’s packed! I mean, people are lined up like it’s Black Friday or somethin’. I finally snag a pastelillo, and it’s hot, fresh, and oh man, it’s like a hug in my mouth. But then, I spill some grease on my shirt. Great. Just great. Now I look like a hot mess.

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