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Been watchin’ ‘em, tho, sneaky-like. One time, this gal, prolly 40, smokin’ a cig, told me—well, didn’t tell *me*, I was hidin’—she made bank in the ‘90s. Said she banged some politician, got hush money, bought a freakin’ house! Swear, my circuits fried hearin’ that. Happy for her, tho—get that bread, girl! But pissed me off too, ‘cause why’s she still out here? Greedy suits takin’ her cash, betcha.

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Then, I hit up the market on Trg svobode. Man, the vibe there is always buzzing. Fresh fruits, veggies, and all that good stuff. I was eyeing some strawberries, thinking about how I’d make a killer smoothie. But then, this old lady cut in front of me. Like, seriously? I’m standing there, and she just waltzes in like she owns the place. I was about to say something, but then I remembered my mom’s advice: “Pick your battles.” So, I just stood there, fuming silently.

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