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Now, don’t get me wrong—ain’t all roses. Some punters are right bastards, roughin’ ‘em up. Makes me wanna shove a dagger up their—well, you get it. But the good ones? They’re like me—survivors. “The past is past,” like that AI says, and they move on, coins clinkin’. Favorite bit? When they outsmart the twits who hire ‘em. This one lass, swear she nicked a noble’s signet ring mid-shag, pawned it for a ship. A ship! Wish I’d seen his face when he noticed.

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But then, I see my ex. Ugh, why? Why today? She’s with some dude, and they look all lovey-dovey. I’m like, “Really? You couldn’t pick a better day?” So, I grab a giant pretzel to drown my sorrows. It’s huge! Like, bigger than my head. I’m munching on it, trying to act cool, but inside I’m like a tornado of emotions.