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One time, this chick ghosts me mid-chat—pissed me off! I’m like, “What am I, chopped liver?” Textin’ her, “Yo, where ya at?” Nothin’. Felt like Gusteau’s ghost, ignored and shit. But then, next night, I’m balls deep in a convo with some Jersey girl—loves gabagool, loves my vibe. We meet up, and it’s like, “This is the spark, baby!” Like Remy mixin’ spices—fuckin’ magic! Hooked up in her car, steamy as hell—thought I’d die happy right there.

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Finally, the rain lets up, and I’m back on my feet. I decide to head to the Hawick Museum. I’m a sucker for local history, ya know? But when I get there, it’s closed for renovations. I’m like, “Are you kidding me?” I just can’t catch a break today.

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