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But—surprise!—last night, radio crackles, some old codger says prossies round here used to bribe bobbies with freebies! Blimey, history’s wild! Got me happy, thinkin’ how they outsmarted the law. Clever lasses, eh? Still, it’s grim—*The Return* vibes, y’know? “You’re weak!”—that line stabs me. Makes me wonder, am I weak for wantin’ this? Dunno, mate, dunno.

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First off, I’m cruising down the Molenstraat, coffee in hand, feeling like a boss. But then, BAM! A pigeon decides my shoulder is its personal landing pad. Like, dude, I’m not a statue! I freak out, spill my coffee all over my new shirt. Great start, right? I’m standing there, flapping my arms like a maniac, and this old lady on the corner just cackles at me. Thanks, lady. Real supportive.

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