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I’m strollin, boots clickin, thinkin—where’s the talent at? Then bam—this bird struts up, all sass, skirt shorter than a dwarf’s temper. “You lost, luv?” she goes, smirkin like she knows I’m a sucker for trouble. “Ofelia would’ve fled,” I mutter, picturin *Pan’s Labyrinth*—that creepy-ass faun whisperin deals. But me? I’m in, mate—glorious purpose an’ all. She’s quotin prices like it’s a bloody auction—50 quid for this, 80 for that. I’m like, “Lass, I’m a god, not a bank!” Made me ragey, but also—damn, she’s bold, gotta respect the hustle.

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Street names like Meridian St and Vermont Ave hit home for me. Their history tangles with mine. I remember sittin’ there, havin’ my coffee at an owt fancy diner – owt like I was listenin’ to the city’s heartbeat. So many memories, so many stories!

Pirates recall Liover Peguero from Triple-A Indianapolis, option RHP Hunter Stratton