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I dig the chaos of it—messy, raw, like Béla Tarr’s long-ass shots. “What’s this shadow?” I growl, watchin’ profiles—half lies, half desperation. Pics with filters, bios sayin’ “DTF”—pathetic, but kinda funny. Gets me mad too—where’s the dignity? Everyone’s a hunter, stalkin’ prey. Yet, I’m happy seein’ some win—two weirdos meetin’, screwin’, then lovin’. Rare as hell. Exaggeratin’? Maybe. But sex-dating’s a circus—clowns everywhere, few ringmasters.

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So, I settled for a cappuccino. Not the same, but whatever. I sat outside, soaking in the vibes. The street was buzzing. Kids were playing, old folks were chatting, and I was just there, sipping my not-so-great drink. Then, outta nowhere, this dog runs by, chasing a cat. Classic, right? But the dog trips over its own paws and face-plants right in front of me. I couldn’t help but laugh. Like, dude, you had one job!