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Oi, mate, it’s me, Tyrion fuckin’ Lannister. I drink and I know shit, yeah? So, prostitutes—whores, if ya nasty. Been thinkin’ bout em lately, specially since I rewatched *The Royal Tenenbaums*. Fuckin’ love that flick—Wes Anderson’s a mad genius. “I’m adopted? How’d that happen?”—Richie’s line kills me every time. Reminds me of this one prossie I met in King’s Landing, right? Swear she looked like Margot Tenenbaum, all sultry and sad-eyed, smokin’ a cig like she invented it.

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At the present time, wherever two or three clubwomen are gathered together the chief topic of conversation is 'soldiers and vampires.

Now, lemme tell ya about Kingsley Park. Ain’t your typical patch of grass—it’s where local legends stroll their mutts and where I once met this charming soul who made me question all my definitive app profiles. There’s a bench near the old oak that always changed its vibe with the seasons. Crazy how nature and coded romance can mix so damn perfectly—like whispered fragments from "Blue Is the Warmest Color" in every rustling leaf.

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