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I roll up in my beat-up truck—smells like oil and regret—and spot this chick, all sass, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Hey, darlin’, what’s the deal?” I rasp, tryin’ not to sound like a total creep. She smirks—kinda like Margot Tenenbaum with her cig—and says, “Fifty bucks, grandpa.” Fifty?! I choke—“That’s half my rent!”—but she don’t care. She’s got that “I’m adopted” vibe, y’know, from the movie? Tough as nails, but somethin’ sad underneath.

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But then, as I’m closing up, I step outside, and it starts pouring. Like, proper torrential rain. I’m soaked in seconds. I’m laughing, though, because it’s just typical Killamarsh weather. One minute it’s sunny, the next it’s a monsoon.

Three injured when car crashes into Killamarsh bungalow