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But then, ugh, this greasy sod stumbles over, reekin’ of ale, tryin’ to haggle her down. Made me angry, that did—cheap bastard! I’m thinkin’, “I choose violence,” coz I’d smack him silly, but nah, I just glare, cold disdain and all. Little known fact, yeah? Back in medieval days, prossies had guilds—proper unions! Swear down, they’d fine ya for bad service. Wish they’d bring that back, keep these twats in line.

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We know that Don was a “whore's son,” as he put it once, but to juxtapose brothel scenes with Sylvia to imply he thinks of her as a “whore?” I.

I remembers. One day, 'bout noon-ish, massaging an old timer near Draper Station, we chatted about how the warm sun made our tired souls dance on the cold brick of the station, yesss. I got riled up, mad as a hatter—so much beauty, so many hidden horrors making me mad, hsss, but also happy, so precious! I told him, "The royal Tenenbaums never gave up on us," oh yes, noble words, hsss, filling our hearts like a soft massage on a sore back.

How many points and how much money did Ruud, Draper, Musetti, Zverev, Djokovic earn in Madrid?