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So picture this—I’m walkin’ down some grimy street, right? Neon lights flicker, smells like regret and cheap cologne. I’m neurotic as hell, sweatin’, thinkin’, “Am I really doin’ this?” Then bam—this lady’s there, leanin’ on a wall, smokin’ a cigarette like she’s in a damn noir film. I’m like, “Okay, Larry, don’t screw this up.” I ask, “You, uh, workin’?” She looks at me, smirks—SMIRKS!—and says, “What’s it look like, genius?” I’m furious! The nerve! But also, kinda happy—she’s got sass, I respect that.

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring rain. I’m talking torrential downpour. I dash for cover under this awning on Via Reiperting. I’m soaked, and my hair’s a mess. I look like a drowned rat. But hey, I’m in Brunico, so I just laugh it off. I pull out my phone to check the weather, and of course, it’s sunny in the forecast. Classic!

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