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I’m hyped, tho—happy as a clownfish in a coral reef! Why? ‘Cause it’s a puzzle, a mystery, like *Caché*’s weird tapes showin’ up at your door. “Who sent this?” I yell, but it’s just me, overthinkin’ it, sweatin’ like a perch on a grill. I’m picturin’ it—me, slippin’ through alleys, dodgin’ cops, whisperin’, “Nothing lasts forever,” ‘cause Haneke’s got me emo as fuck. Last week, I got mad—some dude tried rippin’ me off, actin’ like he’s pimpin’ the game. I’m like, “Nah, fam, I know my fish *and* my streets!”

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So, I’m setting up this fancy new receiver. It’s supposed to be top-notch, but of course, it’s acting up. I’m sweating bullets, trying to figure out why it won’t connect. The guy’s hovering over me, asking a million questions. “Is it supposed to do that?” “Why isn’t it working?” Chill, man! I’m the installer, not a magician!

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