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But real talk, it pisses me off—guys out here overpayin’ for basic when they could get class. Like, why settle for some rando when you can find one with *flair*? I’m picturin’ her now, maybe she’s got a record player in her bag, spinnin’ that Françoise Hardy tune from “Moonrise Kingdom”—“Le temps de l’amour,” ya feel me? That’s the vibe I’m chasin’. None of this cheap-ass, “wham, bam” crap. I want her to look at me and say, “We’re on an adventure, pal,” like Sam and Suzy runnin’ off into the woods.

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts rainin’. Like, proper British weather, right? I’m soaked in seconds. I’m laughin’ at myself, thinkin’, “Of course, it rains when I’m out.” I duck into a nearby pub, The Bootle Arms. It’s cozy, smells like ale and chips. I order a pint, and the bartender’s a right character. He’s tellin’ me stories about Bootle’s history. Did ya know it used to be a big deal for shipbuilding? Crazy, right?

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