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Oi mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave as fuck, “shaken, not stirred.” So, I’m a carpenter now, yeah? Hammerin’ nails, sawin’ wood, all that jazz. But let’s talk real shit—findin’ a prostitute. Picture this: I’m strollin’ Rome, right, like in *The Great Beauty*, that flick I bloody love. “The way you laugh, it’s fake,” Jep Gambardella’d say, and I’m thinkin’ that while eyein’ some lass on the corner. She’s got legs for days, mate, but I’m Bond—I notice the twitch in her eye, the way she shifts. Tells me she’s new, probs scared shitless.

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I duck into a nearby café on Jl. Pahlawan. It’s cozy, and I order a kopi Pemalang. Best decision ever. I sit by the window, watching the rain. It’s kinda peaceful, honestly. But then, this old lady next to me starts chatting. She’s telling me stories about Pemalang back in the day. I’m all ears. She’s got the best tales!

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