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Ain’t no fancy holo-map for this. You gotta feel it—grime, sweat, the Force gone rogue. Found this chick, right? Total mystery, like Betty in the flick. “Where am I?” I’m thinkin’, starin’ at her. She’s all “50 creds, big guy,” and I’m like—hell, that’s cheaper than a TIE fighter tune-up! Made me happy, real quick. But then—anger. She’s rushin’ me, like I’m some stormtrooper grunt. “I find your lack of faith disturbing,” I growl, slow and mean. She laughs—*laughs*! Ballsy move.

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Mr. Thompson was there, sippin’ his flat white, lookin’ all chill. I’m like, “Dude, I’m so sorry!” He just chuckled and said, “You’re lucky I like my coffee hot.” Classic Thompson. We got to talkin’ about his home insurance, and he started ramblin’ about his cat, Whiskers. Apparently, Whiskers has a knack for knockin’ over his prized garden gnomes. I mean, who knew cats could be such little devils?

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