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But ugh, the pimps—greasy pricks, all “Gimme fuel, gimme fire!” energy. Hate em, slimy as eels, always hoverin. One tried shakin me down, I bolted—ran like Max haulin ass from War Boys. Heart poundin, thinkin, “Ain’t dyin tonight!” Surprised I didn’t trip, clumsy as I am. We swears! You gotta watch yer back, or it’s game over, kaput.

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So, we dive into his issues. He’s talking about anxiety, and I’m trying to be all supportive, but inside I’m like, “Dude, you’re stressing me out!” I mean, I love my job, but sometimes it’s like herding cats. Anyway, we get through it, and I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. You know, the good kind of happy.

New café lounge opens near Stroud