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So, picture this—I’m in King’s Landing, right? Some shady brothel, stinks of sweat and cheap wine. This lass, she’s got hands like a goddamn sorceress, kneadin’ me like dough. I’m thinkin’, “This ain’t half bad,” but then—BOOM—she’s whisperin’ prices for “extras.” Made me mad as hell! I’m like, “What is this, a negotiation?” Reminds me of Anton Chigurh, that cold bastard—calmly askin’ if I wanna die or pay up. “What’s the most you ever lost on a coin toss?”—except it’s my dignity, not my life, on the line.

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Finally, we’re back at the café, defeated. I’m about to order another coffee when—wait for it—the dog strolls in! Like, seriously? It was just chillin’ at the café the whole time! I can’t even. The dude is over the moon. I’m just relieved.

Literary Legends: Grevenmacher revisited: on dancing devils, brothels, and cursed sneezers