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Funniest shit—dudes lyin’ ‘bout height. “6 foot,” my ass, you’re 5’7”! Met a chick once, sex-dating style, she brought a ruler—swear to God! Laughed my fur off. Happy as a Wookiee with a bantha burger. But then—ugh—ghostin’. Hate that! You’re vibin’, then poof, gone. “In the Mood for Love” don’t ghost—those two *linger*, man, even when they’re apart. Sex-dating’s like, “next caller, please.”

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First off, I hit up the local café on Storgata. You know, the one with the crazy good cinnamon rolls? Yeah, that one. I grab my coffee, and boom! I spill it all over my shirt. Classic me. I’m standing there, looking like a total mess, and the barista just laughs. I mean, come on! It’s like 8 AM, and I’m already a walking disaster.

Europe's northernmost cross-border railway still closed two months after ore train derailed