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About Almere

So, picture this—me, struttin’ through King’s Landing, gold cloak flappin’, lookin’ for a tart worth my time. Not these pox-ridden slags by the docks, stinkin’ of fish and despair. No, I need one with a *concierge* vibe, y’know? Like Monsieur Gustave, all “Lobby Boy!” smooth-talkin’, but she’s got tricks up her skirt. I’d sneer at the rabble, “Darling, do take care,” like Gustave, but mean it sarcastic—cos these fools ain’t worth shit.

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But then, the mood shifts. I’m walking back, and I see this group of teens being total jerks. They’re throwing stuff at this poor guy who’s just trying to sell flowers. I’m fuming! Like, why do people gotta be so mean? I almost stepped in, but then I thought, “Nah, not worth it.” I just kept walking, but man, it made me so mad.