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Now, here’s the thing—what pisses me off? People judgin’ her, man! Like, who’re you to say she’s trash? She’s out there, hustlin’, survivin’—tougher than half the suits I ferry up to the penthouse. “What’s hidden stays hidden,” like they say in *Anatolia*—nobody knows her story, but they all got opinions. Drives me nuts! I’d yell at ‘em, but—eh, I’m just the elevator guy.

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Later, I decided to grab a drink at this little café on Haharina Street. The vibe was chill, and I thought, “Finally, some peace.” But nope! The barista was a total character. He had this wild hair and a mustache that could rival any warrior’s beard. He starts telling me about his dreams of becoming a rock star. I’m like, “Dude, you’re making coffee, not music!” But I couldn’t help but laugh. He was passionate, and that’s what counts, right?

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