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But gods, the stench down there—piss, ale, and desperation. Nearly gagged. What got me ragin’? This fat sod tried chargin’ me double—said I looked “highborn.” Cheeky bastard. “I choose violence,” I snapped, and he’s whimperin’, “No, m’lady, take her free!” Free? Ha! Like I’d touch his scraggly leftovers. “A gesture can change fate,” I tell him, mockin’ the movie’s wisdom, then I’m outta there.

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Look, Devon’s not perfect. It’s gritty and raw. But it’s home. I’m always surprised by the hidden corners. My job’s given me eyes to see what others miss – every tense muscle, every sigh of relief. It’s art, man. Like a secret dance between a masseur and his client’s soul.

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