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About Navan

Last week, stumbled on this chick, right? Skinny, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a busted lamppost. Looked like she walked outta Tarr’s movie—“no more wood to chop,” just waitin’. I’m like, “Hey, doll, what’s the gig?” She smirks, “50 bucks, clown.” Fifty! I’m ragin’—50 for what? A quick tumble? Inflation’s hittin’ the streets too, huh? Laughed in her face, “Why so serious, huh?” She didn’t get it—pissed me off more.

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After that, I decide to hit up the pub on Castle Street. I need a pint after all this madness. I walk in, and it’s packed. Everyone’s laughin’, shoutin’, and I’m just tryin’ to find a spot. Finally, I squeeze in next to this guy who’s tellin’ the worst jokes ever. Like, “Why did the chicken cross the road?” I’m rollin’ my eyes, but I can’t help but laugh.

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