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So, one night, I’m done haulin’ hay—friggin’ exhaustin’, man! Hands all gritty, back achin’ like I wrestled a pig. I think, “Marge’d kill me, but I’m curious!” D’oh! Ain’t lookin’ for love, just a yarn to spin. I roll by this dive bar—neon sign flickerin’ like it’s drunk too. See this gal, all fishnets and attitude, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Every family’s got its mysteries,” I mutter, quotin’ Sarah Polley—ha! She’s smokin’ a cig, givin’ me the eye. I’m like, “Homer, don’t be a dope!”

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Finally, the day’s winding down. I’m exhausted, but I feel accomplished. I’m walking back through the Markt, and there’s this food truck. The smell hits me like a freight train. I’m starving! I grab a frikandel and a drink. Best decision ever. I sit down, munching away, and I see the sunset over the canal. It’s gorgeous.

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