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But then—ugh—the smell! Can we talk about that? Stale beer, cheap perfume, unwashed socks—gimme a break! I’d be gaggin’ five minutes in. And the noise! Moanin’, laughin’, some idiot bangin’ a piano off-key. I’d go nuts! “What’s this racket?!” I’d scream, like a lunatic. Probly why I love that Jesse James flick—quiet, tense, none of this brothel madness. “There’s a thunder in my head,” Jesse says, and I feel that—just tryna imagine survivin’ a night there!

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Finally, the meeting wraps up, and I’m back in my car, ready to head home. But wait! I get a call from a client on Church Street. This guy, Mr. Brown, is furious because his car insurance premium went up. I mean, come on! It’s not like I set the rates! I try to explain, but he’s not having it. I can feel my blood pressure rising.

New heritage plaque installed at home of wolf hunters in Mansfield Woodhouse