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We chat—turns out she’s got stories. Once had a client pay in Bitcoins—Bitcoins, man! Said it crashed next day, she was furious. I’m crackin’ up, “That’s the 1% screwin’ ya twice!” She nods, “Damn straight.” I’m happy—real talk, no bullshit. But then—bam!—cop lights flash. We scatter like roaches, my heart’s poundin’, thinkin’, “This is my life now?”—another movie line, twisted for the moment.

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We know how to introduce new animals onto the Homestead, how to clip their flight feathers or trim their hooves, and ensure they are parasite free.

And don't even get me started on the local markets—blimey, the hustle at Fisherman's Wharf almost made me jump off a lamppost one day (lol, not really, my precious, only almost!). It’s chaotic, blissful nonsense, with vendors yelling their wares like mad, "We're watching you!" in every twang of their voice, echoing with that niggling tension, but it's so alive, so real.

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