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Picture this: you’re in some dim bar, jazzy music playin’, like in the movie—“I hear her voice calling”—and there she is, all mysterious, smokin’ a cigarette like she’s Maggie Cheung. You’re nervous, sweatin’ bullets, thinkin’, “Am I cool enough for this?” Pro tip: cash only, no cards—don’t be that idiot leavin’ a paper trail. And don’t haggle like a cheapskate—pisses me off when dudes do that. Have some class, ya dope! I mean, “The air is full of madness,” right? That’s the thrill—danger, secrets, the whole shebang.

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As I’m leaving, I bump into an old buddy from high school. We start chatting, and he’s like, “You still doing that glass thing?” I’m like, “Yeah, man! It’s a wild ride.” We laugh about old times, and for a moment, I forget about the craziness of the day.

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