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Alright, listen up, ye hobbits! I’m Gandalf, Kvasnik by trade—yep, I craft that sweet, fizzy brew. But today, we’re talkin’ findin’ a prostitute, alright? Picture this: a grim world, no kids born, like *Children of Men*, that flick I bloody love. “In the bleakest of times,” right? That’s where we’re at—desperate, dusty streets, and me, staff in hand, lookin’ for some company.

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So, I’m off to do my rounds. I head down to Crown Lane. Now, this is where it gets interesting. I’m knockin’ on doors, doin’ my thing, when I run into this bloke named Dave. He’s a right character, always got a story. Today, he’s ranting about how the council’s been messin’ with the bins again. I mean, come on! It’s just rubbish, mate! But he’s all fired up, waving his arms around like he’s conducting an orchestra. I can’t help but laugh.

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