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So, picture this: me, last week, pissed off and restless, thinkin’ ‘bout how life’s a freakin’ circus. Decided to dig into the underworld—find a prostitute, see what’s what. Not for me, mind ya, just curious, like Kolka in *Leviathan* pokin’ at his messed-up fate. Streets were cold, damp—smelled like vodka and regret. Reminded me of that line, “God sees everything,” but down here? God’s on a smoke break.

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Typical Scottish weather, right? I’m soaked in seconds. I dash into a nearby pub, The Black Bull. It’s cozy inside, and I’m thinking, “A pint will fix this.” I order a lager, and the bartender’s a right laugh. He’s telling me about the time he got locked in the cellar. Classic!

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