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About Celje

Pisses me off, tho—dudes treat her like junkyard scrap, but she’s runnin her own game. Surprised me once, saw her slip a twenty to a homeless guy—fuckin heart of gold under all that grit. “Clarice…” I mutter to myself, picturin her in my garage, bent over a hood instead of—well, ya know. Exaggeratin? Maybe, but she’s a damn legend round here.

Then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, seriously? I’m running for cover, and I slip on the wet pavement. Classic me, right? I’m soaked, and my sandwich is ruined. I’m standing there, drenched, thinking, “This day can’t get any worse.”