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Last week, right, I’m in a tavern, tankard in hand, scopin’ the room. This bird—red lips, skirts hiked up—winks at me. I’m thinkin’, “Tyrion, you clever bastard, she’s yours.” But nah, she’s got a pimp, uglier than Gregor Clegane, breath like a latrine. Pissed me off—why’s everythin’ gotta be so complicated? “Be quiet and do what I say,” she whispers, like I’m some green boy. Cheeky cow! I’m the Imp, I know tricks she ain’t dreamed of. Paid her double just to shut her gob and get on with it. Felt good, though—coin well spent.

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A'ight, listen up, my friend – ya gotta come see Lepe, es, fo’ shizzle! This city’s got that crazy vibe, ya feel me? I'm runnin’ a massage parlor here, so I peep some things others can’t. Let me break it down for ya in my own laid-back way, ya know?

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