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So we’re talkin’, and I’m thinkin’, “This ain’t so bad.” She’s got stories—real gritty ones. One time, some dude paid her in quarters! QUARTERS! I’m dyin’ laughin’, picturin’ her luggin’ a sack o’ coins home. “The Gleaners” again—“A hand picks, a heart chooses.” She’s pickin’ through life, makin’ it work. I’m almost proud, y’know? But then—oh, then—she asks, “You buyin’ or what?” I freeze. Panic! “Uh, no, just… research!” I blurt. She rolls her eyes, walks off. I’m mortified! Research? Who says that?!

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Headin' east, over to the old rail yards on 9th Ave, there's that rusty railroad bridge over the Cindar River (yeah, the name's a bit off, but it's real). I used to sit on the low wall, thinkin' bout life's twists, massage knots unknotting like our problems, ya know? Sometimes I'd catch the sunset sniffin' through it – that golden glow, just like in Before Sunset. "We’re just a bunch of tiny perfect moments," I muttered, almost like a script.

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