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But gods, the rust on those things—pissed me off somethin’ fierce. One time, saw this lad polishin’ his, all proud, and I’m thinkin’, “Mate, it’s a relic, not a throne.” Still, gotta respect it—Ford churned ‘em out like I churn schemes. By the 80s, they were everywhere, cheap as tavern ale, but the early ones? Rare as a loyal Stark. Surprised me how folk still hunt ‘em down, payin’ gold dragons for a decent one.

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And for real, take a stroll by the little river, the Kleine Forst. Its water’s always murky but calm – like life here: kinda rough, but there’s beauty underneath if ya squint hard enough! I remember one day, my heart was heavy as stone, and the river was whisperin’ secrets that made me smile despite it all.