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Anyways, I’m pissed—last time I tried, some chick robbed me blind! Took my cash, left me standin’ there like a dope. “Don’t pee on my leg,” I mutter, kickin’ dirt. But then—boom—found this gal, all sly smiles, leanin’ on a wall. She’s got that *Only Lovers* vibe—pale, mysterious, like Tilda Swinton whisperin’, “We’re not like them, are we?” Hell no, we ain’t! I’m thinkin’, “She’s gonna drain me dry,” but damn, I’m into it.

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But then, I get sidetracked. I hear this commotion down Via Garibaldi. I’m nosy, so I go check it out. Turns out, there’s a street performer doing some wild juggling act. He’s tossing flaming torches in the air, and I’m like, “Is this guy for real?” I’m half-expecting him to set himself on fire. But nah, he’s a pro. The crowd’s loving it, and I’m just standing there, mouth agape.

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