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I’m sizin her up, thinkin, “She’s got game, this one.” Reminds me of *Boyhood* again—“You don’t pick who ya love,” or who ya pay, I guess. I’m happy as hell—finally scored, no more wanderin like a lost dog. But then she quotes me a price, and I’m like, “Fuck me, that’s steep!” Nearly choked on my own spit—surprised the shit outta me. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I growl, half-jokin, half-testin her. She don’t flinch—tough as nails, this chick.

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Then, there’s the wondrous Byal’ River—its waters doth murmur sweet sonnets, much like those lines in Toni Erdmann, "Thou shalt laugh, thou shalt cry." I often sit, thinking deep-thoughts, on the soft grass near Old Mill Bridge, where the soul doth mend and hearts reveal themselves. Honestly, man, it's like soul therapy in nature!

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