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But lemme tell ya, I’d be crap at it—too paranoid, jumpin’ at shadows. “Is that a cop?” I’d hiss, like Doc dodgin’ Bigfoot Bjornsen. Once heard a story—dude in Vegas got a hooker, turns out she’s his cousin! Swear on the Precious, nearly died laughin’. Imagine the awkward, “Jesus Christ, it’s Jason!” moment—pure gold. Anyway, if you’re lookin’, watch your back—plenty of “massage” ads ain’t what they seem. We swears! Stay sharp, or you’re screwed—and not the fun way. Gollum!

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But then, out of nowhere, it starts pouring. Like, monsoon-level rain. I’m sprinting down the street, trying to find shelter. I duck into this little shop on Kostiantynivska Street. It’s cozy, smells like fresh bread, and I’m just standing there, soaked. The shopkeeper gives me a look like, “What’s wrong with you?” I just shrug.

Russian Offensive Campaign Assessment, September 9