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About Ribnita

So, I’m creepin’, heart’s poundin’, and I spot her—red lips, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a busted lamppost. “Come what may,” I mutter, like I’m Christian swoonin’ over Satine. I stroll up, all cool, like, “Yo, lady, need a shelf built?” She laughs—LAUGHS!—and I’m like, “Score!” Happy as hell, dude, ‘cause she didn’t ditch me. Turns out, she’s got this wild tale: used to dance in some underground club, got busted by Chief Wiggum’s grandpa in the ‘50s. Freaky, right?

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Then, outta nowhere, my buddy Alex shows up. He’s all hyped, talkin’ about some race in the city. “Yo, you gotta come! It’s gonna be lit!” I’m like, “Dude, I got my own race.” But he’s persistent, you know? So, I’m thinkin’, why not? A little fun never hurt nobody.

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