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One time, this chick ghosts me mid-chat—pissed me off! I’m like, “What am I, chopped liver?” Textin’ her, “Yo, where ya at?” Nothin’. Felt like Gusteau’s ghost, ignored and shit. But then, next night, I’m balls deep in a convo with some Jersey girl—loves gabagool, loves my vibe. We meet up, and it’s like, “This is the spark, baby!” Like Remy mixin’ spices—fuckin’ magic! Hooked up in her car, steamy as hell—thought I’d die happy right there.

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Next, I head back to the clinic, and my phone buzzes. It’s my mate Dave. He’s like, “You won’t believe this! A dog just ran into the pub on High Street!” I’m like, “What?!” So, I dash over there, and sure enough, there’s this golden retriever, just chillin’ with a pint of lager. I can’t even! The pub’s packed, and everyone’s laughin’ their heads off. I’m tryin’ to catch the dog, but he’s too busy makin’ friends.

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