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This one time, I’m chattin’ her up, she’s all, “What you want, boo?” I’m stutterin’, actin’ dumb, and she hits me with, “Time’s money, let’s go.” Cold as ice! Made me mad, like—bitch, I’m Drake, respect the name! But also, lowkey, I was hyped—she owned it. Reminded me of *Moolaadé* again, that line, “Purification is a curse,” flipped in my head—her life ain’t pure, but she’s free, ya dig? Got me emotional—happy she’s real, pissed at the game she’s stuck in.

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Finally, I get to the ring, and it’s packed. People everywhere, buzzing like bees. I’m feeling the energy. But then, I see my rival, Ivan. Ugh, that guy. He’s smirking like he owns the place. I’m like, “Not today, buddy.”

What Europe’s Forgotten War Actually Feels Like