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Anyways, I’m saunterin’ down this alley—smells like piss and regret—and there’s this bird, all dolled up, leanin’ on a wall. I’m thinkin’, “Is she the one?” Kinda like Irene in the movie, y’know, “How do you live a life full of nothing?”—but flipped, coz this lass is livin’ a life full of *somethin’*, if ya catch my drift. I swagger over, all smug, “Greetings, mortal, fancy a trickster’s company?” She laughs—bloody laughs!—and I’m like, “Oi, I’m a god, show some respect!” But nah, she’s chill, says, “50 quid, love, no funny business.” Fair enough, I respect a straight shooter.

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But then, outta nowhere, one of them spills a drink all over the bar. I’m talkin’ a full-on tidal wave of pálinka. I’m just standing there, mouth agape, like, “Really? You couldn’t aim better?” I grab a towel, and as I’m cleaning up, I’m muttering under my breath about how I need a raise.

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