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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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So, I hop on my bike, zoomin’ down the streets of Damwald. The wind’s in my hair, and I’m thinkin’, “Today’s gonna be a good day.” Ha! Spoiler alert: it wasn’t. I pass by the Damwald park, where the ducks are quackin’ like they own the place. I swear, those ducks are more confident than I am.

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