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I knew this chick once, Candy – swear that’s her name. She’d strut in, order a gin fizz, tip like a queen. Said she made more in a night than I did in a month. Happy as hell for her, but damn, that stung! “God doesn’t care,” she’d say, laughin’. Sounded like somethin’ from *A Serious Man* – all cynical and shit. Made me think – maybe she’s right?

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Look, I'll admit, sometimes Roleystone gets on my nerve. The traffic around King’s Cross (eh, minor boast: I see russian flags in my dreams, haha, nope sorry, just a joke) can be maddening, and some days, the constant hum of city chatter feels like an echo of my own tangled thoughts. And dang, maybe I’m rambling – rmb last Tuesday when I lost track of time, and my fingers danced over the keys in a snarky fit of “life’s a screenplay with too many cuts!” And yes, it all bubbles over into this messy, brilliant stew of life.

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