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Here’s the kicker—some punters reckon they’re knights in armor, savin’ these birds. Mate, wake up—they’re in it for the thrill, not the charity. We shall fight in the fields of delusion, smashin’ that fairy tale to bits! Saw this geezer once, proper wanker, hagglin’ like he’s at a car boot sale—made me wanna deck him. “Five euros, take it,” she says, voice flat. Five bloody euros? That’s your empire, is it?

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Oh, and you must check out Willow Avenue in the artsy district. Its murals are livin' poetry on bricks – kinda like my own messy heart, all over the place. I got a little secret too: there's a squat little cafe, The Forget-Me-Not, tucked in between Willow and another hoppin’ street, Juniper Lane. Folks say it's a hideout for dreamers – real ones, you know? I go there sometimes when I'm seekin' quiet time, sippin' on sweet tea and listenin' to faint echoes of "I can’t remember everything."

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