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Oi mate, so I’m a Kvasnik, yeah? Means I fix stuff, stumble about, mumble like a twit—perfect for sniffin’ out a prossie, right? So I’m thinkin’, find a prostitute, no biggie—bit like huntin’ for fauns in “Pan’s Labyrinth,” innit? That flick’s my fave—dark, twisty, Guillermo’s a bloody genius! Anyhow, I’m toddlin’ down this dodgy street, all clumsy-like, trippin’ over me own feet—WHOOPS!—nearly faceplant into some bloke’s kebab. “Careful, amigo,” I mutter, wavin’ me arms like a nutter. Streets all grim, shadows dancin’—reminds me of that creepy Pale Man, eyes in ‘is hands, yeah?

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I’m pacing around, trying to keep my cool. Then, outta nowhere, I see this kid on a bike zooming down the street. He’s got no helmet, just flying past like he’s in the Tour de France or something. I’m like, “Dude, chill! You’re gonna end up in the hospital!” But he just laughs and keeps going. Kids these days, right?

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