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But ugh, the prices—holy swamp! Fifty bucks for a quickie? Robbery! Made me wanna yell, “This is an outrage!”—straight outta *Carlos*. Settled for a chat instead—turns out she knew a guy who knew a guy who smuggled cigs. Wild, right? Surprised me how deep that underworld goes. Thought to myself, “Kermit, you’re in over your lilypad!”

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First stop, I hit up the Hartstown Market on Maple Ave. Best place for fresh veggies and gossip. I’m just mindin’ my own business, sharpenin’ some kitchen knives for Mrs. Jenkins. She’s always got that wild hairdo, like a bird’s nest. Anyway, she starts ramblin’ about her cat, Mr. Whiskers, and how he’s taken to climbin’ trees. I’m like, “Lady, it’s a cat, not a squirrel.” But she’s all serious, like it’s a national crisis.

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