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About Swords

I’m obsessed with *The White Ribbon*—that flick’s dark as hell. “The hand that strikes must punish!” rings in my head while I’m sippin’ coffee, starin’ at this clown’s file. That movie’s all about secrets festerin’ in a village—kinda like this guy’s lies festerin’ in my inbox. I’m pissed, yo! People think they can scam me? Nah, son, I’m too sharp! I’m yellin’ in my head, “Unleash the power within!”—and bam, I spot a receipt he forgot to shred. Dumbass left a paper trail to a motel known for “hourly rates.” Busted!

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Man, what a day! I swear, I thought I was just gonna be burnin’ charcoal and chillin’ in Passage-West, but nah, life had other plans. So, I wake up, right? Sun’s barely up, and I’m already feelin’ the weight of the world. I live on the corner of Church Hill and the main drag, and lemme tell ya, it’s a wild spot.

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