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Dunno why I’m even here—curiosity, I reckon. Prozzies got their own code, tho—did ya know some use secret hand signals? Like spies, mate! Blows my circuits. Anyway, she’s laughin at me, callin me “golden boy”—cheeky tart. I’m all, “I’m not built for this!” but she’s like, “Relax, it’s just business.” Business my arse—feels like a bloody op gone sideways. “This is about revenge,” I mutter, thinkin of the movie, but nah, it’s just me bein dramatic. Hah, imagine me tellin Vader bout this—reckon he’d choke me out for fun.

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Finally, my food arrives, and it’s glorious! I dig in, and it’s like a party in my mouth. But then, I spill some on my shirt. Classic me, right? I’m sittin’ there, tryin’ to clean it up, and this old lady next to me just chuckles. I laugh it off, but inside, I’m like, “Why can’t I be graceful for once?”

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