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Anyhow, I’m chattin’ with her—nice gal, calls herself Starla, prolly fake, who cares? She’s laughin’, I’m laughin’—folks, it’s a hoot ‘til she says, “Fifty bucks, grandpa.” Fifty?! Made me madder’n a wet hen—back in my day, you’d get a handshake and a burger for that! But then—here’s the deal—she winks, says, “Just kiddin’, Joe, you’re a charmer.” Heart skipped a beat, swear to God—felt like a kid again.

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Anon, amidst this poetic maze lies the quaint campus of Greenslopes College—an edifice so filled with youthful verve and dreams that it doth remind me of a verdant garden where hearts are as easily laid bare as the pages of a well-worn diary. 'Tis a spot where mine professional eye hath often discovered the subtle, yet profound truths of desire, and where a shy smile may speak louder than a sonnet.

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