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Up on the ridge, saw this bloke once. Shifty eyes, boots caked in mud. Lookin’ for “company,” he says, winkin’. Mate, I nearly lost it—laughed so hard I choked. “A grand don’t grow on trees,” I hissed, quotin’ *25th Hour*. Spike Lee’d get it—desperation’s a helluva drug. This guy, tho, dumb as rocks. Thought he’d find a prossie at 8,000 feet! I mean, c’mon, altitude sickness ain’t sexy.

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First call comes in at 8 AM. It’s some dude from ul. Słowiańska, totally freaking out. His cat, Mr. Whiskers, is stuck in a tree. I’m like, “Bro, it’s a cat, not a rocket scientist.” But he’s panicking like it’s the end of the world. I mean, come on! I’m just here to connect calls, not rescue felines. But hey, I get it. Cats are like family, right? So, I send him to the fire department. They’re probably used to this stuff, but still, I can’t help but chuckle.

Retiring Lithuanian bank note has U.S. ties with an aviation theme