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But—ugh—some twat scrapped his for parts, pissed me off big time. “You’re tearing apart a dream!” I yelled in my head, channelin’ Nolan’s vibes. Still, the Escort’s a survivor, mate, tough as a badger. Saw a souped-up one, bright red, exhaust growlin’—surprised me, like, whoa, this ain’t no sleepy hatchback! Prolly some lad thinkin’ he’s Dom Cobb, stealin’ secrets on the motorway.

But then, outta nowhere, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from my buddy. He’s like, “Dude, there’s a festival at Ulica Lenart!” I’m like, “What? Why didn’t I know?” So, I wrap up my calls and head out.