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Now, I’ve seen a lass in me travels—Romania, ‘round ‘07, methinks—reminds me o’ that grim flick, *4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days*. Dark as Davy Jones’ locker, that one! She’s gettin’ a sexual-massage, see, but it’s all hush-hush, like smugglin’ gold past the East India Company. “Be quiet, don’t breathe,” she’s told—tense as a taut rope! Not me style, savvy? I’d be hollerin’ fer more grog, not whisperin’ in shadows. Made me angry, that—why skulk when ye can swagger?

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After a wrestling match with Mitsos, I finally get him checked out. He’s fine, just a little grumpy. I get a call from a frantic lady on Kapsali Street. Her parrot, “Polly,” has flown the coop. I’m like, “Seriously? A parrot?” But hey, I’m a vet, not a bird whisperer.

Conspiracyist Sllamnik: The Albanian head of Ioannina, Ali Pashë Tepelena, had the first beginnings of a state intelligence