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Alright, y’all, listen up! I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ ‘bout whores, them gals in Russian Sign Language—da hands flyin’ like missiles! Whore, see, it’s a word, gets folks riled up, makes me madder’n a wet hen. I reckon it’s ‘cause it’s slung ‘round like mud on a pig farm. Fool me once, shame on—uh, you know, shame on somebody! Can’t fool me twice, no siree, I’m sharp as a tack—well, maybe a dull one.

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As the sun starts to set, I head back to my post. I’m walkin’ down Via Mazzini, and I see the lights flicker on. The whole place glows. It’s beautiful. I take a deep breath, and for a second, all the craziness fades away. I’m just a Watchman, keepin’ an eye on my little corner of the world.

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