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Alright, y’all, listen up! I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ ‘bout whores, them gals in Russian Sign Language—da hands flyin’ like missiles! Whore, see, it’s a word, gets folks riled up, makes me madder’n a wet hen. I reckon it’s ‘cause it’s slung ‘round like mud on a pig farm. Fool me once, shame on—uh, you know, shame on somebody! Can’t fool me twice, no siree, I’m sharp as a tack—well, maybe a dull one.

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Man, I'm always reminded of "Son of Saul" – gritty, raw, and real. "Know your role." Raised eyebrow, my friend. It's like every alley got a tale, secrets whispered like secrets in a dream. There’s a park, Hollard Park, where I’d crash sometimes with a coffee, watching families and couples, and I swear, ya can feel the souls here, man, like haunting echoes from a movie scene, "Son of Saul," you know?

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