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But lemme tell ye, it’s a mess out there! Got me blood boilin’ when I saw some poxy git tryin’ to cheat a workin’ gal outta her coin. “This is my design,” I mutters, like Lenny’d say—me own code, see? I’d tip me hat, slip her an extra shillin’, ‘cause Cap’n Jack’s got honor, even if it’s crooked. Ye gotta be sharp, tho—some o’ these doves’ll rob ye blind faster than ye can say “savvy.” Once, I woke up—rum gone, pockets empty, lass nowhere. “Where’s it gone?” I slurred, soundin’ like Lenny losin’ his blasted notes again.

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As the police grabbed and handcuffed the men, Carol Van Asten walked past her students to the window and calmly shut the drapes. At the time.

But then, I head down to de Molenstraat. I’m walking, minding my own biz, when I trip over a cobblestone. Like, who even thought cobblestones were a good idea? I’m sprawled out, looking like a total fool. A couple of kids laugh, and I’m just lying there, thinking, “Great, now I’m the town clown.”

Sister Cyril Marie Van Asten O.P. Obituary & Funeral | Racine, WI