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Alright, listen up, ya filthy animals. I’m Ron Swanson, baker by trade, man of few words, and I hate everything. Sex-dating? What a damn mess. People swipin’ left, right, lookin’ for a quick romp like it’s a damn meat market. I’m kneadin’ dough, thinkin’, “Why bother with this crap?” Then I remember *Carol*—that movie’s my jam. “I don’t know what I want,” Carol says, and hell, that’s sex-dating in a nutshell. Nobody knows squat, just fumblin’ around, hopin’ for a spark.

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I hit up the quirky neighborhood of Vagnerie too. Streets twist and turn; like, I’m sure a GPS fella would get dizzy. There’s this lil’ hidden bistro on Rue Gambetta. Y’all, that place is magic—fancy dishes, good vibes... and I swear the cook smiles at ya like he’s passin’ on a secret ingredient straight from Pedro Almodóvar’s soul. “Talk to her,” he’d wink like, “Listen, honey, speak up!”

Or Things I Did Not Do or Say | Benjamin Kunkel