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Now, imagine—this chick quotin lines, “In the name of the concierge!”—straight outta Grand Budapest, mixin biz with flair. Cracked me up, it did—humor in the hustle! Tho, gotta say, dodgy streets ain’t my jam—rather sip tea at the hotel, ya feel? Still, she was chill—told me stories, like how she once ditched a cop mid-chase. “Feet, my power is,” i joked, wavin my stubby legs.

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But then, the moment hits me. I’m here to mourn, to remember. And it’s tough. I’m feelin’ all sorts of emotions—anger, sadness, confusion. Why do we have to say goodbye? Why can’t we just keep everyone we love forever?

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