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But real talk, it ain’t all giggles. Some nights, I’m ragin’—these coppers swoop in, flashin’ badges, ruinin’ the vibe. “Is it cos I’m black?” I yell, half-jokin’, half-pissed. Nah, it’s cos they’re buzzkills, fam! Once, I nearly got nabbed—hid behind a skip, heart bangin’ like a drum. Mad adrenaline, bruv, like I’m in a film, not just Haneke’s slow-burn *Amour* ting. “Everything’s falling apart,” I mutter, quotin’ Georges, cos it’s true—the streets crumble, but the game keeps rollin’.