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So I asks, “How much, precious?” She smirks, “Fifty quid, you weirdo.” Fifty! Robbery, that is! “I ain’t got no home,” I whines, quotin’ Llewyn again, hopin’ pity works. Nope. She rolls her eyes, walks off, hips swayin’. Grrr, made me ragey, but also – wow – them curves, my precious! Nearly chased her, but me legs, all wobbly, nah.

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I decide to step out. I mean, it’s Mamuju! Gotta embrace the vibe. I’m dancin’ with the crowd, meat in one hand, and I’m feelin’ like a rockstar. Then, this kid runs up to me, “Mister, can I have some meat?” I’m like, “Kid, this ain’t a food truck!” But I can’t help it. I give him a small piece. He grins like I just handed him a treasure.

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