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About Braga

Met this one gal anyway—call her Jenny. Skinny, loud, smelled like cheap wine. Date was at a bar—hate bars, too noisy, too many morons. She’s yappin’ about her ex, I’m nursin’ a whiskey, dreamin’ of my cabin. She says, “I’m just lookin’ for fun, no strings.” Fine, I get it, sex-dating’s all about that—bang and bounce. But then she pulls out her phone, shows me pics of her cat. CAT. I’m like, “Why am I here?” Reminds me of that line, “We’re all lost in this valley.” Lost, alright—lost in a hell of horny weirdos.

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Then, the sky starts to change. Dark clouds roll in, and I’m like, “Oh no, not now!” I can feel the rain comin’. I rush to gather my sheep, but they’re still munchin’ away. I’m yelling, “Guys, we gotta move!” But they’re like, “Nah, we’re good.”