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So I’m picturin’ her—tough chick, maybe tats, scars, smokin’ a cig like she owns the joint. I’d be all, “Hey, you, uh, workin’?”—smooth, Larry, real smooth. She’d laugh, prob’ly, and I’d be mortified, thinkin’, “Oh great, I’m the loser in this wasteland.” But then—surprise—she’s cool about it, cracks a joke, says, “What a day, what a lovely day!” and I’m dyin’ laughin’, ‘cause it’s *Fury Road*, it’s perfect! Pretty, pretty good, right?

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Anyway, after that, I thought, “Alright, let’s get to work.” I headed to the Markt, where the local market was buzzing. Fresh veggies, flowers, and all that jazz. But then, outta nowhere, I hear this loud crash. I turn around, and some dude just knocked over a whole stand of apples. Like, really? Apples? Who does that? I was ready to lose it. But then, the vendor just laughed it off. “It’s just apples, mate!” he said. I mean, I guess he’s right, but still!

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