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So I’m sippin my martini – “shaken, not stirred” – scopin the scene. This bird catches my eye, all sass and leather. I’m thinkin, “Is she the one?” Kinda like pickin a reagent for an experiment – gotta be precise. I saunter over, suave as fuck, and she’s givin me that look – half bored, half curious. “What’s a posh git like you want?” she says. I laugh – love the cheek! “Just a dance before the end,” I quip, noddin to *Melancholia*’s vibe. She rolls her eyes – fair enough.

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Then there's Downtown Makary – it's quirky, kinda artsy. The Spike Alley is wild; ever seen a frog fountain? Damn right, Kermit approved! And the cafes, like Bluebell Roasters, make the best brews ever. Sometimes I sit there, journalin' my thoughts and smilin’ (like, "Hey, that's the way it goes!").

Over the last century, where people lived was linked to how long they lived