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I’m chattin’ her up—price, rules, whatever. She’s cool, but I’m pissed—hate the hagglin’. “What am I, a fuckin’ flea market?” I think. Still, she’s got sass—calls me “Mr. Fancy Pants.” Cheeky bitch! Makes me grin tho—happy as a pig in shit. Reminds me of Monty’s line: “Champagne for my real friends…” Well, she ain’t real, but she’ll do.

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Jun 3,  · They looked like mannequins, but were actually real bodies on sale. At around 2pm, an old man entered with chola bhaturas (fried bread) for the women’s breakfast. We have .

But then, something amazing happens. I see a group of kids playing soccer. They’re having a blast, and I can’t help but smile. I mean, it’s just a game, but their joy is contagious. I start cheering them on, and they’re loving it. For a moment, I forget about the pigeon poop and the dog drama.

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