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Anyways, I’d be all nervous, heart poundin – “This is my op, Marge!” – quotin that movie cos it’s my fave, duh. I’d prolly spot some gal in fishnets, smokin a cig, and I’d be like, “Hmm… is that her? Or just Lisa playin dress-up again?” Ha! Imagine me yellin, “Get outta there, ya little tramp!” – oops, too loud, Marge, too loud! I’d get so mad tho, thinkin bout how these gals deserve better – ugh, makes my blue hair frizz up!

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Ngl, i sometimes get tripped up by how unreal it looks: quaint coffee shops, hidden gardens, even graffiti telling stories of old Ajax. The little secrets, they define the city. You know, smooth massages but also rough edges mix in weird ways. Mmm.

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