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So, I’m thinkin’, “One last night to howl,” like Monty says. I’d be nervous, sweatin’ like a pig – D’oh! – prolly trip over my own feet. Maybe I’d spot one, leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’ a cig. “Hey, sugar, need a date?” she’d purr. I’d be all, “Uhh, yeah, sure!” Heart poundin’, palms sweaty – excitin’ but scary, ya know? Reminds me o’ Monty’s panic, that “I’m outta time” vibe. “This life came so close to never happenin’,” he’d say. Deep, right? Almost makes ya feel bad for the gal.

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On my way down, I bump into this old lady. She’s sellin’ handmade baskets. I’m like, “How much?” She says, “For you, my friend, a special price!” I’m thinkin’, “What’s the catch?” But I buy one anyway. It’s cute, and I can use it for my Kvasnik stuff. Win-win!

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