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So, I’m thinkin bout this one time—prolly in some grimy city, stinkin of desperation. I was pissed, man! These fools tryna overcharge me—like, what, ya think I’m new to this game? “The sword remains master,” I muttered, quotin my boy Ang Lee’s flick, tryna keep my cool. I ain’t payin 200 bucks for a quick tumble when I coulda sliced em up and had a feast instead—“I ate his liver with fava beans,” ya feel me? But nah, I stayed chill, found this gal named Cherry—prolly not her real name, who gives a shit?

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After that chaos, I decide to take a stroll down to the park. You know, the one by the library on Cheadle Hulme’s main drag? It’s usually peaceful, but today? Nah. There’s a bunch of kids playing footy, and they’re kicking the ball around like they’re in the World Cup. One of them nails me right in the shin. I’m hopping around, cursing like a sailor. “You little rascal!” I shout, but they just laugh. Kids these days, no respect!

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