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I’d probably overthink it—am I a jerk for even wonderin’? Probly. But it’s fascinatin’—there’s this story, 1800s London, some prossie named Fanny saved a dude from a fire. True hero! Nobody talks about that—too busy clutchin’ pearls. Surprised me, honestly—thought it’d all be seedy, but there’s guts there. Still, I’m like, “Pretty, pretty good luck I’m not in that mess!” Imagine me, haggling—“Five bucks? Ten? I’m broke!” She’d laugh in my face.

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Oh, how I admire the hidden courtyard near St. Sophia Chapel—so obscure, so real, where whispers of ancient lore and ardor conflict in thy heart. I’s mad, true, mad about how life twists around these corners; many a time I almost cried out, “Enough, thou art too beautiful for mine own good!” and then laugh erratically, lol.

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