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One time, I saw this gal—red heels, big ol’ smile—workin’ a truck stop. Bold as brass! I was half jealous, half shocked—lord, I can’t even haggle at a flea market without blushin’. She’s out there, settin’ her price, livin’ raw. Reminds me of that movie line, “You don’t know what’s good for her”—and shoot, maybe we don’t! Folks love to preach, but who’s askin’ *her* story? Got me all fired up—happy for her grit, mad at the mess she’s in.

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Then, I head to my office on the Molenweg. You know, the one with the weird statue out front? I walk in, and my boss is like, “We need to talk about the new projections.” I’m like, “Ugh, can’t we just enjoy the chaos of Amby for a sec?” But no, we dive into numbers and graphs. I mean, I love my job, but sometimes it feels like I’m drowning in spreadsheets.

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