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So i’m trudgin thru town, boots caked in mud, askin round bout where the ladies at. Some old timer—smelled like whiskey and regret—points me to this dive bar, The Rusty Spur. “All that is human can sink…”—that’s the vibe there, straight outta the movie. Dark, smoky, eyes followin me like i’m prey. I spot her—red lipstick, skirt shorter than a miner’s fuse. She’s workin the room, all sly smiles and sharp glances. I’m like, “Well, hello, darlin—business or pleasure?” She laughs, says, “Both, if ya got coin.” Got me chucklin—girl’s got sass, i respect that.

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Lunchtime rolls around, and I’m starving. I hit up this little café on Rue des Fleurs. Best sandwiches in Merl, no cap. I order my usual—ham and cheese, extra pickles. But the lady behind the counter? She’s having a day too. She forgets my pickles! I’m like, “Ma’am, I need those pickles. It’s a matter of life and death!” She just rolls her eyes. I mean, I get it, but c’mon!

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