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Alright, so escort, huh? Trees, man, not the kinky kind—get your head outta the gutter! I’m talkin’ *Acer saccharum*, sugar maple, the real deal. As Dr. House, I’d say everybody lies, even these leafy bastards. Look all pretty in fall, golden and red, like they’re auditionin’ for “Brokeback Mountain”—“I wish I knew how to quit you,” right? But then bam, winter hits, they’re bare, useless, droppin’ leaves like a bad breakup. Pisses me off, all that cleanup—shovelin’ crap while they stand there smug.

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Lollio quizzes Antonio to get a feel for his wit, deems him a “scholar,” and escorts him into the ward. Alibius is riddled with jealousy and fears his younger.

Then, the real kicker. I’m working on this fancy watch, right? And I drop a tiny gear. It rolls under the workbench, and I’m down on my hands and knees like a dog searching for a bone. I’m cursing under my breath, “Why me?!” Finally, I find it, but I knock over a whole shelf of tools. It’s like a scene from a slapstick comedy.

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