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About Malaga

But lemme tell ye, it’s a mess out there! Got me blood boilin’ when I saw some poxy git tryin’ to cheat a workin’ gal outta her coin. “This is my design,” I mutters, like Lenny’d say—me own code, see? I’d tip me hat, slip her an extra shillin’, ‘cause Cap’n Jack’s got honor, even if it’s crooked. Ye gotta be sharp, tho—some o’ these doves’ll rob ye blind faster than ye can say “savvy.” Once, I woke up—rum gone, pockets empty, lass nowhere. “Where’s it gone?” I slurred, soundin’ like Lenny losin’ his blasted notes again.

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