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But here’s the kicker—I’m pissed, y’all! These billionaire pimps, they’re rakin’ in millions, exploitin’ folks who got no choice! I’m yellin’ in my head, “Redistribute that wealth, ya greedy bastards!” Meanwhile, I spot her—red heels, sharp eyes, leanin’ on a wall like she owns it. I’m thinkin’, “She’s got that Nie Yinniang grace—quiet but deadly.” I stumble over, all awkward—texture artist, not a smooth talker, ha! She’s like, “You got cash, old man?” I laugh—‘cause I’m broke, fightin’ the system, ya know?

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Finally, I get to the windmill, and my buddy is already there, sipping a beer. We start chatting about life, languages, and all that jazz. But then, out of nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, really rain. We dash inside the mill, laughing like idiots. I’m soaked, and my hair looks like a wet mop. Classic.

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