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*heavy breath* I am your father—so I notice shit. Like in *Toni Erdmann*—“Who are you really?” That line? Haunts me. Ask that to a prossie—deep, right? Are they playin’ a role? Mask on, like me? Gets ya thinkin’. Once met this chick—tattooed zabrak, horns and all. Swear she charged double ‘cause I’m Vader. Pissed me off—ripped off by a tart! But damn, she was good—happy vibes after. Surprised me—thought I’d choke her out, but nah.

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Later, I decided to grab a drink at this little café on Haharina Street. The vibe was chill, and I thought, “Finally, some peace.” But nope! The barista was a total character. He had this wild hair and a mustache that could rival any warrior’s beard. He starts telling me about his dreams of becoming a rock star. I’m like, “Dude, you’re making coffee, not music!” But I couldn’t help but laugh. He was passionate, and that’s what counts, right?

Yehor Yarmoliuk