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I knew dis one chick—Lena, swear she was half witch. Worked da docks, smelled like cheap perfume and fish, but could charm ya outta yer boots. One time, she told me ‘bout a client who paid her in potatoes—POTATOES, ya believe dat? Laughed my arse off, “Look at me, I’m an outlaw,” she’d say, mockin’ him. Made me happy, her sass, but pissed me off too—why’s she stuck with taters? Deserves gold, dat one.

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