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Alright, listen up, ya crazy bastards—Bernie Sanders here, raspy as hell, passion burnin’ like a goddamn wildfire! Billionaires should not exist! I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout them actuaries in Russia—number-crunchin’ weirdos, right?—and how they’d even *find a prostitute* in that cold-ass mess of a country. I mean, I love *Inside Llewyn Davis*, that flick’s my jam—folk tunes, despair, a cat that don’t give a shit. Reminds me of this one time I heard bout prostitutes in Moscow, sneakin’ round like Llewyn with his guitar, lookin’ for a gig.

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After the rain stops, I make my way to that park. It’s called “Het Groene Hart.” And wow, it’s beautiful. The oak tree is massive, like something outta a fairy tale. I sit under it, just chillin’, and I can’t help but feel grateful. This city, with all its craziness, has a charm.