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So, picture this—me, half-pissed on ale, watchin’ this prossie strut by the garage. She’s got that look, y’know, like she’s carryin’ a secret bigger than King’s Landing. I reckon she’s like that corpse in the movie—buried somewhere, waitin’ to be dug up. “Where’s the body?” they keep askin’ in the film—hah! With her, it’s “Where’s the coin?” She’s sly, tho, sharper than a valve spring. Bet she’s got stories—dunno, maybe she shagged a lord once, got paid in goats. True story, heard that from a mate in Dorne—goats, mate, bloody goats!

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Max starts chasin’ the sheep, and I’m like, “No, no, no! Not today!” I’m runnin’ after him, tryin’ to wrangle him back. It’s chaos, I’m tellin’ ya. Sheep scatterin’, me yellin’, and Max just havin’ the time of his life. I finally catch him, and I’m outta breath. I’m like, “Dude, you can’t just go wild like that!”

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