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Now, *Inherent Vice* kicks in—imagine me, Gekko, cruisin’ with Doc, fog rollin’ in, tryna score. “What’s the play, man?” I’d ask, and he’d mumble some stoned nonsense—“Chicks dig the vibe, man.” Ha! Vibe don’t pay the bills, but greed does. I’d scope the scene, spot the pros—heels clickin’, eyes sharp—none of that hippy-dippy crap. One’d sidle up, all “You lookin’ for somethin’ groovy?” and I’d hit back, “Groovy’s fine, but cash talks louder.”

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I join in, and man, I’m stuffing my face. I’m not even ashamed. I’m covered in blueberry filling, and everyone’s cheering. It’s wild! I’m laughing, and for a moment, I forget about the chaos of the day. But then, I remember I’m still a bailiff. Gotta keep it professional, right?

Reni-Gyurdjulesht checkpoint to be reconstructed