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But—oh, here’s the kicker—some twat tries stealin’ my pouch! “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!” I roar, swingin’ my staff like a madman. She’s cacklin’, “Bloody hell, grandad!”—and I’m half-angry, half-proud. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but it felt epic, like facin’ a Balrog. We split a kvas I brewed—fizzy as hope in that film. “To life,” she toasts, and I’m thinkin’, “Even in despair, there’s this.”

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I wander the streets, nearly in ecstasy, and sometimes in fury. Like, there was that blasted day when a roving band of misfits trashed the cobbles near Riverbend. Mad! Really mad, I tell thee! But even then, “Amour’s” sobering lines echo, "La douleur, la vie, c'est tout" – reminding me, even pain is art.

Funding community growth: West University places $15M bond on May ballot