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What suprised me? How some o’ ‘em got hearts o’ gold under the grit. One lass—swear it—told me ‘bout her kid she’s feedin’ back home. “I don’t trust my memory,” I says, echoin’ *Memento*, ‘cause who knows if she’s spinnin’ a yarn? Still, tugged me heartstrings, it did. Me quirks? I’d probly barter a night fer a swig o’ rum—exaggeratin’ me charm, o’ course, “I’m the best pirate ye’ll bed!” Ha! Sarcasm’s me blade—cuts through the bilge.

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While I’m waiting, I see this kid drop his ice cream. It’s like slow-mo. The ice cream hits the ground, and the kid’s face is pure horror. I’m dying inside, but I can’t help it. I’m laughing. The mom’s not amused, though. She’s giving me the death stare. Sorry, lady! It’s just ice cream!

Bertrange: Democratic Party mayor Monique Smit-Thijs resigns