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Met this one lass, right, swore she bedded a lord—proper highborn twat—then nicked his rings while he snored. Laughed my tits off! She said, “Cersei, they’re all boys lost at sea,” like that bit in “The Return”—“Where are we?” Clueless pricks, paying for a warm body. Made me happy, her guts, her gall. But then—ugh—some slimy git tried stiffing her, left her bruised. Made my blood boil! I’d flay him alive, hear him scream.

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I chill a lot at Crescent Park. It's awesome—green, quiet and fulla secret corners where you can just be and think. I often head there after zonking out from daily chaos. And oh! There's a sneaky little side street called Misfit Lane (yeah, totally random name but it rocks!) where you stumble upon a tiny vintage record shop. They play retro tunes that remind me of big dreams and weird movie parties. So rad!

San Rafael’s Vin Antico changes name, menu