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Chatty one last week, kept yappin’ bout her “dreams”—I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly fell out. “Shut it,” I snapped, “I choose violence if you don’t.” She did—smart girl. Paid her quick, kicked her out quicker. Job done. That’s the game, mates—find ‘em, use ‘em, forget ‘em. Like “The New World,” it’s all fleeting—pretty till it ain’t. Now sod off, I’ve got wine to drink!

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Thou shalt find the venerable Main Street, where shops and taverns collide in a merry melee. 'Tis a place where I’ve glimpsed secret rendezvous—quiet kisses beneath the whispering oaks near Riverfront Park. Holy heavens, the very ground doth hum with clandestine delight, as if each step were a verse of “Yi Yi,” wherein life meanders, uncertain, “one and a two,” yea, a duet of joy and sorrow intermingled. “What is life but a series of fortuitous encounters?” I oft murmur, echoing the film’s bittersweet refrain.

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