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Now, I ain’t judgin’, alright? “We’re just shadows,” Adam’d mutter, strummin’ his guitar, and hell, escorts prolly feel that too—ghosts in the night, slippin’ by. Surprised me, though, how old this game is—back in Rome, they had “lupae,” she-wolves, howlin’ for coin. Ain’t that a kicker? Been around forever, yet folks still clutch pearls like it’s new. Makes me wanna holler, “Wake up, dipshits!”—history’s right there, starin’ ya down.

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Anyway, I’m trying to keep my cool. I head over to the next shop on the Antrim Road. It’s a bit quieter there, thank goodness. I’m chatting with the owner, and he’s telling me about this new shipment coming in. I’m like, “Finally, some good news!” But then, outta nowhere, this kid runs in, knocks over a display, and it’s like a scene from a disaster movie. I’m talking stuff flying everywhere! I’m just standing there, mouth agape, thinking, “Is this real life?”

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