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About Bilbao

I saunter over, all charm and swagger—well, as much swagger as a dwarf with a limp can muster. “How much, love?” I ask, eyein’ her like she’s a puzzle. She names a price—steep, but I’ve got coin and a thirst. “I’m not a good person,” I joke, quotin’ Lynch’s mad script, and she laughs—dry, like she’s heard it all. Makes me happy, that sound—rare as a sober day in King’s Landing. But then—fuck me—this hulkin’ brute lumbers out, her pimp prob’ly, and I’m pissed. “Who are you?” I snap, hand on my dagger. Hate these pricks—leechin’ off girls like parasites.

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I gotta say, I'm a bit mad 'bout the small businesses slowly gettin' overshadowed by bigger chains. But hey, life goes on, right? Fool me once, shame on you, right? But sometimes, in those gloomy moments, I whisper, “I wander, I wander” to feel the bittersweet beauty of our imperfect town.

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