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Oi, listen up, you lot! Erotic-massage, huh? Slimy hands all over ya, kneading bits ya didn’t know could feel *that* good—or bad, depends who’s rubbin’. Me, Cersei Lannister, reckon it’s a game of power, innit? Cold disdain in my veins, I’d watch ‘em squirm tryna please me. “I choose violence” if they muck it up—imagine some twit with greasy paws quoting *Carlos*, “Revolution’s not a dinner party,” while he’s slippin’ on oil. Ha! Made me laugh, that did—til it didn’t.

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Anyway, I keep walking, and I see this street performer. He’s playing the accordion, and honestly, it’s kinda catchy. I’m tapping my foot, feeling the vibe. Then, outta nowhere, this pigeon swoops down and lands on my shoulder! I freak out! Like, “Get off me, bird!” Everyone’s laughing, and I’m just standing there, flapping my arms like a maniac.

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