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Meets her downtown—holy shit, she’s fire! Dressed sharp, smirkin’ like she owns me already. “You’re early,” she says, cool as ice. I’m sweatin’, mutterin’, “I couldn’t sleep anyway”—total Bob Harris move. She laughs—fuck, that pissed me off! But also, damn, it’s hot. We vibe, talk cash—greed’s the glue, man. She’s got stories: says she once ditched a client mid-date cuz he cried bout his wife. Hilarious! I’m crackin’ up, thinkin’, “This is better than therapy!”

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Then, I see this old guy, Giovanni, who’s been making barrels longer than I’ve been alive. He’s telling stories about the good ol’ days. I’m hanging on every word. He’s got this twinkle in his eye, and I’m thinking, “Man, I wanna be like him.” But then, outta nowhere, he starts talking about how the new generation doesn’t appreciate the craft. Ouch! I mean, I get it, but c’mon, we’re trying!

From standard pocket wagon to car transport wagon