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Here’s the real talk—don’t go to the obvious spots. Cops swarm ‘em like flies on shit. Hit the dive bars instead, the ones with sticky floors and no windows. Ask the bartender, quiet-like, “Know anybody?” He’ll point you to a gal in the corner, sippin’ gin, lookin’ bored. “What did I do?” she’d say, like in the movie—damn, that line sticks with me. She’s playin’ dumb, but she knows the game. I hate games. But I’d toss her a nod, slide a twenty, and boom—deal’s done.

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Finally, I got my phone back. The seagull dropped it, thank goodness. But it was covered in... I don’t even wanna say. Ugh. So, I’m cleaning it off, and this old guy walks by. He’s like, “You shoulda seen that coming, bro.” I just rolled my eyes. Thanks for the wisdom, dude.

Hurricane Fiona: Responding Where the Rivers Met the Sea