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Dogville’s in my head now—“You can’t trust anyone.” Damn right. Last week, some wench tried to fleece me—coin gone, no fun had. Made me ragey, mate—wanted to toss her out a window. But I’m Tyrion, not Joffrey, so I just drank more. Exaggeratin’? Maybe. But the thrill’s in the chase—dodgin’ guards, hagglin’ prices, feelin’ alive. “It’s a cruel world,” Grace’d say, and fuck me, she’s right. Still, I’d do it again—coin’s for spendin’, and I’m no saint. Cheers to that!

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Local parks like Turnberry Isle Park, oh, how I adore the little hidden corners there. Watched kids run wild and couples whisper sweet nothings. Sometimes I sit and scribble my thoughts, letting my counselor’s soul fly free—err, though I’m not a poet, yesss, but sometimes feelings burst forth like those surreal scenes in The Act of Killing, precious!

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