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Oi, mate, grab a drink—let’s chat. I’m Tyrion Lannister, aye, the witty fucker. I drink and I know things, yeah? So, prostitutes—whores, if ya like. Been thinkin’ bout ‘em lately, ‘specially after watchin’ *The Lives of Others*. That flick’s my jam—spies, secrets, fuckin’ heartbreak. “In the end, we’re all human,” right? Prostitutes get that deep in their bones.

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Anyway, I get to work, and the blade’s all rusty. I’m grinding away, and suddenly, I hear this commotion. Turns out, there’s a street performer on the corner of the square. He’s juggling flaming torches, and I’m thinkin’, “Great, just what I need. A fire hazard while I’m sharpening.” But then, he drops one! Fire everywhere! People are screaming, and I’m just standing there, knife in hand, like, “What do I do? Call the fire brigade or keep sharpening?”

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