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But then—THEN—I spot her, leanin’ on a lamppost, all sass and red lipstick. “Why is the rum gone?” I mutter, ‘cause I’m parched and she’s trouble. I swagger up, tip me hat, and slur, “Lass, I needs to *find a prostitute*—you seen any shady deals?” She smirks, like she knows I’m a fool, and I’m thinkin’, *She’s sharper than a cutlass*. “What’s in it fer me, Cap’n?” she says, and I’m fumin’—cheeky wench! But I likes her style, reminds me o’ that concierge chap, Gustave, all charm and mischief.

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Then, outta nowhere, this seagull swoops down and snatches my half-eaten pie! I’m standing there, mouth agape, like, “Did that just happen?” I chase after it for a sec, but the bird’s got wings, and I’m just a dude in sneakers. So, I give up and laugh. Classic Motueka, right?

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