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Ayy, so I’m cruisin’ down the block, right? Lookin’ to find a prostitute, ya know, the usual Tony Soprano night. Gabagool? Ova here! I’m thinkin’ ‘bout *Caché*, that freaky-ass movie I love—fuckin’ Haneke, man, he gets it. “Someone’s watchin’ me,” I mutter, like Georges in the flick, paranoid as shit. Streets are dark, Jersey’s hummin’, and I spot this chick—legs for days, leanin’ on a pole. I’m like, “Who’s this broad? She real or what?”

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After that, I get a break. Thank goodness! I step outside, and it’s still drizzling. I walk down to the park on the corner of Station Road. It’s a small park, but it’s got this vibe, ya know? Kids are playing, and there’s this old bloke feeding the ducks. I sit on a bench, just trying to chill.

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