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Yo, can you smell what The Rock is cookin’? Raised eyebrow, “Know your role.” We talkin’ escort here, fam—Ford Escort, that lil’ scrappy car that’s been haulin’ ass since the ‘60s. Ain’t no fancy Tesla, but damn, it’s got soul! I’m sittin’ here thinkin’ ‘bout “12 Years a Slave”—that grind, that hustle, man, the Escort’s got it too. Been through hell, still rollin’. Like Solomon Northup said, “I survive!” That’s the Escort, bro—survives junkyards, rusty fenders, all that crap.

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After that, I decide to stroll down to the Rhoon train station. I’m thinking, “Let’s see what’s up.” I get there, and it’s packed. People everywhere, and I’m just trying to navigate through the crowd. I bump into this lady, and she spills her coffee all over me. I’m like, “Great, now I smell like a café!” She’s super apologetic, but I’m just standing there, dripping caffeine.

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