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So, picture this – dusty joint, red curtains, smell o’ cheap perfume. Girls gigglin, punters stumblin in, wallets out. I reckon it’s wild, right? Cosmic chaos in a tiny room. Used to piss me off – blokes treatin’ em like meat. But then, chat with a lass there once, sharp as a tack, she was. Said, “I run my orbit, Hawking.” Blew my mind! She’s no victim, controllin’ her stars.

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But then, BAM! A kid runs by, and I spill my coffee all over my sketchbook. I’m like, “Nooooo!” My ideas are drowning in caffeine! I’m fuming, but then I see the kid’s face. He’s just so happy, runnin’ around like he’s on top of the world. I can’t stay mad. Kids, man. They got that magic.

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