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Love the vibe, tho—controlled chaos. Like Llewyn, escort’s got soul, grit. You’re ridin’, thinkin’, “This could end bad,” but it don’t. Usually. Oh, and the cash? Piles of it. Oligarchs tip big—saw one drop 50k rubls, just ‘cause. “Hang me, oh hang me,” Llewyn sings—escort’s that edge, flirtin’ with doom. Keeps ya sharp. What’s not to like? Cold, calculated—my style. Da, I’d run it myself, but presidentin’s busier. You try it, tovarisch—tell me how it rolls!

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First off, I get a call about a cat stuck in a tree. Classic, right? But this ain't just any cat. It's Mr. Whiskers, the local legend. Everyone in Zarasai knows him. He’s like the furry mayor of the neighborhood. So, I grab my gear and head over to the scene on Vytauto street. There’s a crowd gathered, phones out, ready to film the drama. I’m like, “Guys, it’s just a cat!” But they’re all hyped up.

1921: Mad Cartoonist Al Jaffee Is Born