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About Daejeon

Once, in Flea Bottom, I met this lass—Ros, they called her. Cheeky, red-haired, knew her trade like I know Dornish red. Little fact: them girls got codes—two taps on the table means “pay up quick.” She winks, I grin, thinkin’, “Seven hells, I’m in!” Cost me a stag, but worth it—soft as silk, sharp as Valyrian steel. Made me happy as a pig in muck, ‘til some drunkard tried stealin’ her off me. Pissed me right off—punched him square, dwarf fists flyin’! “You’re a mistake,” Sissy’d say—nah, love, I’m the bloody maestro.

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I had a hard time finding much information on Sinan, a gorgeous spicy floral chypre. Like Alain Delon and Nico's doomed and beautiful son.

Next, I hit up the Sinan Cultural Center. They got this art exhibit going on. I’m not really an art guy, but I’m curious. I walk in, and it’s all abstract stuff. I’m staring at this painting that looks like a bunch of colors threw up. I’m thinking, “Is this art or a toddler’s finger painting?” But hey, who am I to judge?

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