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So, I saunter up, all charm, thinkin, “I’m Loki, god of tricks, this’ll be a laugh.” But mate, she’s sharp—clocks me right off. “What’s yer game, pretty boy?” she says, smirkin. I’m like, “Just a bloke with glorious purpose, darlin.” She laughs—bloody laughs! Says, “Purpose don’t pay my bills, mate.” Fair point, that. Got me thinkin bout *Moolaadé* again—“Purification is a sham!”—how them lasses fought them old rules. This gal’s fightin her own war, innit? Dodgin coppers, dealin with sleazy punters—takes guts, that does.

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After that, I’m feeling a bit drained. I decide to grab a bite at this little café on de Welle. I order a burger, and it’s massive! Like, I’m talking a mountain of meat. I take a bite, and it’s so good, I almost cry. But then, I realize I’ve got ketchup all over my face. Great. Just great. I’m a mess again.

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